


Practice

by MyFuzzyScarf



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Complete, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Headcanon, Mass Effect 2, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyFuzzyScarf/pseuds/MyFuzzyScarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard and Garrus stumble through the difficulties of both inter-species awkwardness and budding leadership potential. A collection of chronological anecdotes focused on fleshing out the relationship between Archangel and the first human Spectre.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Recon

**Author's Note:**

> Freshened up with some sparkly new edits for your reading pleasure! I hope you all enjoy, and, as always, feedback is extremely welcome!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy to report that I've fleshed out this chapter and am exponentially more satisfied with it now! I hope you all enjoy!

“Shepard. Need me for something?”

“Have you got a minute?” she asked.                               

“Definitely. Part of me still thinks we’re crazy for even considering…blowing off steam. But I want to try it with you. I want a few moments that are just for us before we throw ourselves into Hell for the good of the galaxy.”

Shepard smiled. “I want that, too, Garrus.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ll do some, uh, research, and figure out how to…you know.” Shepard cocked an eyebrow. “Okay, that sounded bad,” he admitted.

As the two of them leaned against the crate in the corner—Shepard’s usual seat—there was a pause in which they looked anywhere in the room but at each other. Suddenly Shepard blurted, “I’m nervous, too.” Garrus finally looked at her, surprised at this confession. “You said last time we talked that I couldn’t make you uncomfortable, just nervous. I feel the same way.” A shy smile crept onto Shepard’s face, and Garrus found himself smiling slightly back at her; it was so rare to see a lack of surety on Commander Shepard’s face.

“Nervous, huh? Well. I’m flattered, Commander.”

“’Commander’? Really, Garrus?” Shepard rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

Huffing a laugh, Garrus rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. Old habits. But what are you nervous about, Shepard? This was all your crazy idea in the first place.”

“So what? What’s _not_ to be nervous about? It’s like you said, this could be a night to treasure _or_ it could be a horrible, interspecies awkwardness thing.” She made a face, maybe of disgust or annoyance, and went on, “You’re the closest friend I have left too. What if it’s, you know, the second one? Are we still going to be able to look each other in the face?”

“If it’s—not what we’re hoping—then we avoid eye contact for a few days until we forget about it, and we go on with our lives as usual,” said Garrus, shrugging. “Or…not.”

“Right. Turians aren’t as…complicated about these things. That’s a compliment,” she added hastily.

“I told you you’re my only friend in the galaxy,” he reminded her, avoiding her eye. “I wouldn’t throw that away because of one hypothetically bad night of sex. Besides, how badly could it possibly go?”

There was a long beat of silence before they both shuddered.

“Well, I am _not_ letting that happen.” Shepard paused again, and then she nodded resolutely and said, “Garrus.”

“Shepard?” That tone of hers struck fear deep into his heart.

“What do you say to a little…recon? Why don’t we just, you know, do a sort of test round? Try some things out, see what works. We’re both adults; we can be respectful of each other’s boundaries and talk about anything that, uh, comes up.”

“You want to _practice_ sex? That’s your plan?”

“Why the hell not? Would you rather sit alone down here and jerk off to Fornax?”

“I would at _least_ find some vids on the extranet before I looked at that rag,” he deadpanned. “But you make an excellent point.”

She grinned. “Is that a yes?”

Why did she look so _excited_? What the hell had he ever done that was worthy of this much interest from the Spectre that even death couldn’t defeat? But he couldn’t argue with the sparkle in her eyes, or the stutter of his heart when he felt her leg touch his and realized how close she was sitting.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said no to you, Shepard, and this sure as hell isn’t the time to start. You’ve got me interested now…sounds like you have a plan.”

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

“Are you sure about this?”

She was giving him that look again as she asked, the one that reminded him that those eyes missed nothing. Garrus made sure he was looking straight back into her eyes, nerves be damned, as he answered. “I’m sure.”

“Are you still nervous?”

“Yes,” he admitted, knowing it was no use lying to her.

Shepard lifted her hand to his shoulder, and he noted with surprise that she was trembling slightly. “Me too.” A bit of the tension melted from the air as they looked at one another, her hand resting on his shoulder. “Let’s sit down,” she suggested.

Leading him to the couch—not, he noted with some relief, to the bed—she slid her hand down his arm to his hand and gripped his fingers gently.

“You’ve seen humans holding hands before?” she asked him.

“Yeah…sometimes.”

“It’s just a casual display of affection,” she told him, “but under the right circumstances it can hold a certain amount of intimacy.”

Garrus swallowed. “Yeah, I can see what you mean.” The smirk on her face told him she’d heard the quiver in his subharmonics and recognized it for what it was. Simply touching her—like this, outside of a combat situation—strange as it was, helped ease his nerves yet further. Her hand was so soft, and so _tiny_. He eased his fingers from her grip, instead turning her hand over in both of his. “Do you mind?” he asked. She shook her head and held her hand flat so that he could examine it.

He could feel the bones underneath that alien human skin, more delicate than he’d have thought possible, like a bird’s. He traced the lines on her palms—human skin was so thin that it _creased?_ —and ran a talon down each of her five fingers. When he finally looked up, she was smiling again.

“Your face—you look like you’re concentrating on a really complicated firing algorithm,” she teased him, and he laughed. “My turn?” she asked, and he obligingly removed his gloves and held his hand out to her.

“Your…talons. I read that turian talons are very sharp, but yours…”

“I file them down,” he said. “I can’t always wear gloves when I work on the gun, and human tech is made for human hands. I’d probably break the _Normandy._ What were you doing reading about turian talons? You could’ve just asked.”

“Ah, actually, I…acquired some materials.”

“’Materials’? Oh. Mordin.”

She laughed. “He got to you, too, huh? Nosy little pyjak,” Shepard said. “But some of those diagrams seemed…helpful.” Her face suddenly flushed red, and he tentatively touched her cheek with a blunted talon.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you why you do that,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Your face turns red sometimes…I notice it after missions, or when you’re angry….” He stopped and drew his hands back into his lap, worried that she was angry with him now.

But she shook her head. “Turians express emotion mostly through subharmonics, right?” He nodded and she went on, “Human emotions mostly show through facial expression. When our faces turn red—we call it blushing—it’s because blood gathers under the skin and changes the color. It usually happens because of physical exertion, anger, embarrassment…or lust,” she added quietly, her eyes flicking downward as the reddish color in her cheeks intensified.

Garrus felt a twinge of guilt that he had embarrassed her and a rush of anxiety and excitement at the possibility of having aroused her so easily. “Sorry,” he said hastily as the silence lengthened. “I didn’t mean to—“

“No, no, Garrus,” Shepard said, waving off his apology. “Don’t be sorry; I don’t blame you for asking. I can see why it might be a bit alarming when your commander suddenly starts changing color.” They laughed, and Garrus took enough heart from her words to draw her hands back into his.

“How do turians show affection?” she asked, turning the conversation back.

“Publicly, we generally don’t,” he told her. “There are a few things, but most of them are a bit…intimate.”

“Show me?” she asked quietly. He met her eyes again and noticed that the flush had not subsided from her cheeks. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“I suppose the most basic one…well, like I said, turians aren’t very physically affectionate, but this is pretty common, although it’s not much—but I figure to start off with—“

“Garrus!” Shepard stopped him, laughing. “Just show me. I promise, I’ve got an open mind over here.”

Very carefully, Garrus placed his hand on the back of her head and guided his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes as he gently nuzzled her, just the tiniest contact, and he felt her breath catch. After a few moments, her eyes opened slowly and he noticed for the first time what a vivid shade of green they were. She smiled and said nothing, but nuzzled him back.

“Your turn,” he whispered when several long seconds had passed.

“My turn?”

“What other ways do humans have of showing affection?”

“Well, obviously, there’s hugging, but I seem to remember you and I once had a discussion about hugging before…well, back on the original _Normandy_.” He was glad she didn’t mention the Collector attack. “So, I guess…well,” she looked vaguely embarrassed and pulled away just enough to be able to see him clearly. “Looking at it objectively, it sounds a little weird, but there’s kissing, too.” She cleared her throat and explained, “I don’t know how to describe it, exactly, but it’s mouth-to-mouth contact.”

“Right.” Garrus, who had come across this concept in his “materials” from Mordin, very nearly asked whether or not that was dangerous—it sounded like an excellent way to spread disease—but she looked so anxious about his response that he refrained. “Yeah, I’ve, uh, heard of it,” he said, feeling just a little apprehensive.

“Look, I know there’s no way to really describe it without making it sound…well, gross. But it isn’t,” she added earnestly; “it’s very intimate. Humans have a lot of nerve endings in and around their mouths, so it feels…nice.”

Garrus pondered this for a moment, and, remembering how open-minded she’d been a few moments ago, said, “Show me?”

Very, very slowly, and giving him every chance to ask her to stop, Shepard placed a hand on his shoulder and one on his scarred mandible. She leaned in and then paused, and then their mouths met—just the tiniest bit of pressure at first. When he didn’t ask her to stop, she leaned in again and he could feel her soft, slightly moist lips brushing against his mouth plates—he clumsily reciprocated her movements, though it wasn’t entirely effective. After a long moment, she pulled back long enough to speak.

“Is this okay?” she asked breathlessly.

Garrus was silent for a moment, then he smiled gently. “Intimate” was an accurate word to describe kissing. And Shepard’s face was flushed again, which was gratifying. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“Can we…try something else?”

He nodded again, and she said, “You can tell me if you don’t like it.” Before he even had time to worry about what she could be planning, her mouth was on his again and he placed his hand on the side of her neck. He could feel her pulse under his fingers; it was racing. Suddenly he felt something even softer and wetter than her lips tracing the edges of his mouth plates—her tongue? He drew back, surprised, before he even had a chance to think about it.

“Garrus?” she asked anxiously. She looked so vulnerable in that moment that he could have kicked himself for hurting her feelings.

“Sorry,” he said, grasping the hand that wasn’t still resting on his mandible and stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “I was just…surprised. Try again?”

Shepard looked conflicted, but leaned in to kiss him again. This time, when he felt her tongue on his mouth plates, he tentatively flicked his out to meet her. They explored each other slowly; he’d never tasted another person’s mouth before, but he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that she tasted just like she smelled, that weird, musky human scent that always lingered in the main battery. He couldn’t exactly kiss her back, not the way she was kissing him; but somehow they were falling into a rhythm. He could feel her breath, warm and quick against his plates, and her pulse racing under his hand—Garrus was discovering that he, too, had some fairly sensitive spots along the edges of his mouth plates; the sensation sent sparks through all his nerves, all his senses were filling with her—

And then suddenly, it was over. Realizing he’d closed his eyes, Garrus opened them to find Shepard looking anxiously up at him, slightly out of breath, clearly waiting for him to say something.

“That was…nice,” he said lamely.

Shepard chuckled under her breath. “Really?”

“Really. I—never really understood it before, but I think I do now.”

“Good,” she replied, the relief evident in her voice. “I’ve been wanting to try that for a while now; I was afraid I was going to cross some cultural boundary or something.”

“Well, even if you were, I’m not a very good turian anyway, remember?”

“I think you’re just fine,” Shepard said, eyes softening.

“Shepard?”

“Yeah?”

“Speaking of cultural boundaries we’re afraid to cross…can I touch your hair?”

She let out another breathy laugh. “Sure.”

He reached up tentatively and wound a lock of her reddish hair around his finger, leaning forward to examine it closely. It was made up of the tiniest fibers, each one impossibly thin, but as an entity it was strong and flexible. It was easily the strangest body part he’d ever seen, including the hanar’s tentacles, and ever since he’d first met a human, there had existed a deep, dark part of him that was _dying_ to touch their hair.

He’d never had a chance before. It was nice.

“So…you don’t have any nerves in your hair?” he asked finally, to break the silence.

“No, it’s made of dead cells. Well, I can feel it if you pull it—that hurts if you do it too hard—but there’s no sensation anywhere but at the very roots, where it connects to my scalp.”

Gaining confidence, Garrus unwound the lock of hair from his finger and instead opted to run his talons gently through her hair. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. Shepard closed her eyes, letting out a little noise of pleasure, and said, “That feels nice.” Only a few seconds had passed before Shepard opened her eyes. “Garrus?”

“Mm?”

“Where should I touch you?”

Garrus was taken slightly aback by the abrupt question. “Well, there’s…um…ah, let’s see, you could…”

Shepard interrupted him by placing her hands back into his. “Show me,” she said again.

With a rush of gratitude, Garrus obliged her. “There’s this,” he said, guiding her hands up to the back of his neck, under his fringe.

“No plates here,” she commented.

“Yeah, that’s what makes it…sensitive.” He swallowed hard.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Shepard asked, pausing when he drew in a sharp breath.

“No, no, that…it feels good.” He was trying to control the pace of his breathing. She had _so many_ fingers.

For the first time, he caught the flicker of a mischievous smirk on her face as her fingers continued to massage and probe under his fringe. “Is the rest of your neck sensitive, too?”

“Yes,” he said, not trusting himself to say more because he thought his voice might waver. It had been a long time since anybody had touched him like this.

“Can I try something?”

Garrus swallowed again and nodded. As slowly as she had before, she brought her face in close to his—he thought for a moment that she was going to kiss him again, but she was leaning to his left…she nuzzled into the spot where his neck and carapace met, just near his shoulder—Spirits, he could feel her quickened breath against the sensitive hide between his plates—and then he felt the warmth of her mouth against his skin, then the moisture of her tongue— _Spirits—_ and when her teeth grazed his skin, he just managed to bite back a moan of longing. “Shepard, I…”

“Is this okay?” she murmured against his skin. He could feel her lips moving with every word.

“ _Very_ okay,” he gasped.

She laughed, a sultry sort of giggle that he had never heard from her before, and pulled away from him with one last nip. He felt a strange mixture of regret and relief when she stopped. “That was…familiar,” he told her. “Or—more so, anyway.”

It was also easily the most intimate he’d been with anyone in…well, too long. He didn’t bring that part up, though. Inhaling deeply to clear the fog in his head, he cleared his throat before he attempted to speak again. “Sorry, I just--biting a partner’s neck is usually reserved for—er—later on. Not that I _mind,_ or anything. It’s nice. Too nice. You know what I mean.” _Stop talking, Vakarian. You’re making it worse._

“Oh, I know what you mean,” crooned Shepard. “The infamous Archangel, paralyzed with lust by my human seduction methods. I’m humbled.” The corners of her mouth twitched as she continued, “Too much too soon, Vakarian? Can’t handle the heat?”

If he didn’t know her so well, he would never have caught the way her poking fun at him subtly eased the sudden flare of heat and tension in the room without breaking the mood.

And since when had there been a _mood_?

“You have me at a disadvantage,” he argued mildly. “Although I _did_ do some research….”

Shepard grinned. “Oh? And did you find anything…interesting?”

“I did find a couple of things I’d like to explore a little further,” he replied, overly casual.

“You want to show me?” Her voice dipped a little lower, almost sultry, and there was a new tilt to her eyebrows that spoke of mischief.

Now that he _could_ touch her, he wasn’t sure where to start. They were still holding hands, so he slid his fingers up her arm—it was so thin that he could easily close his fingers around it—and then rested his hand on her shoulder, letting his thumb brush her collarbone. He started to move lower, down her chest, but he hesitated. He was sure that breasts were related to sex somehow, having visited plenty of strip clubs on the Citadel during his C-Sec days, but he wasn’t sure if Shepard wanted him to go quite that far yet—or, indeed, how far “that far” would be.

As always, it was like she was reading his mind. She took his hands and slid them down her chest, cupping one around each breast. “You can touch me, Garrus. I want you to,” she added, looking down and blushing. “I’ll stop you if I’m uncomfortable. And of course you can stop me if you’re uncomfortable. Okay?”

Garrus swallowed. “Okay.”

She pressed his hands to her chest, and gave a little sigh as he squeezed lightly. She showed him how to cup and massage them gently through her shirt, and then guided his thumb across the small nub in the center of her right breast; she sighed again, so he repeated the action on both sides this time. Shepard let go of his hands after a moment and closed her eyes, arching her back into his touch.

“Garrus?” she whispered breathlessly, without opening her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“There’s no articulate way to say this, but I would be exceedingly happy if you took your shirt off.”

Startled, Garrus laughed out loud. “You would?”

Shepard opened her eyes and pinned him with her gaze, half joking and half predatory. “I really would.”

 They looked at each other for a few more moments before Garrus reached up and undid the clasps of his tunic, removing it and draping it neatly over the back of the couch.

“You know I had never even seen your _hands_ before today?” she murmured, almost to herself. Her eyes were shamelessly wandering over his carapace and his chest, and—maybe he imagined it, but they seemed to linger on his waist longer than anywhere else.

“Can I touch you?” she asked quietly.

“Of course,” he rumbled, and he wondered if she could hear what his subharmonics were implying.

Her hands moved lightly over his carapace first, and then traveled downward, mapping out the lines between his plates and tracing gently over old scars. Possibly sensing his tension as her hands moved lower, she stopped and finally looked back up at his face. “Your waist, I remember…it’s…?”

“Not—not as sensitive as under the fringe,” he explained, “but still…you generally wouldn’t touch anyone’s waist in public.”

“Hmm…hang on.” Shepard stood, but turned around and planted herself in his lap instead, her knees braced on either side of him. His breath hitched immediately when she placed her hands on his waist, and he couldn’t help it—he grabbed her by the waist, too, not nearly as gently as she was touching him, and pulled her closer so that he could nuzzle her neck.  

She gave a sultry little laugh, her hands still roaming the soft, plate-less hide of his waist. “Having fun, Garrus?”

“Mmhmm,” he mumbled against her neck. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, running a finger down his throat.

“This was a good idea.”

“Mmm,” she said, or maybe that was because his hand had found its way under her shirt. “Is this easier?” She pulled the hem of her shirt up over her head and threw it aside, and Garrus was suddenly very, very aware that he was seeing more of her skin now than he ever had before.

Heart hammering, he traced her clavicles with trembling fingers. She was just so soft…and her breasts, without the layer of fabric over them, felt even softer as he cupped them in his hands and thumbed the nubs he had noticed before. At this, Shepard arched her back and bit her lip, and he took heart from her reaction, continuing his attentions until he found himself distracted by _her_ waist. Allowing his hands to roam as they pleased, he found himself mapping out the curve of waist to hip—so subtle, compared to the hard lines of turian females—and then his fingers were following her spine up to her shoulder blades, and he felt her shiver.

“Shepard?”

“Mm?” They hadn’t spoken for what felt like a long time, and Shepard’s voice was breathy with unmistakable lust.

“I want to see the rest,” he whispered, tugging at her shorts.

Shepard laughed. “Okay.”

So she stood up and tugged off her shorts, taking her underwear with them and baring herself completely. How _strange,_ that expanse of uninterrupted skin. Her waist curved in a completely alien way, and everything below her hips was utterly bemusing. How could she keep her balance when her knees curved like that? And so many _toes,_ not even to mention the all-around strange shape of her feet.

Then his eyes traveled back up her body to her face, which was holding the amused smirk he was so familiar with, even if it did include a bit of anxious anticipation at the moment. This time, when his eyes traveled back down, he saw new things.

Strange as the curve from hip to waist was, he could see the softness and the beauty of her alien body. He could see several scars marring her otherwise smooth skin, and there were darker spots here and there, just enough to remind him of a starry sky on a cloudy night. Where he was all hard angles and points, her shape was of sweeping lines and gentle curves.

And then there were her eyes. Those vividly green eyes that darkened when she was angry and positively glowed when she was excited. The eyes which had looked earnestly into his as she said, “This isn’t you, either.” The eyes that could see him more clearly than anyone else’s before or since he’d first met them in Dr. Michel’s office.

This was _Shepard._ And he wanted her.

Standing, Garrus walked wordlessly over to Shepard and wrapped his hands around her waist—as he’d suspected, he could very nearly encircle her with his fingers—and then he slid his hands lower to grab her by the hips and tug her toward him. She was watching his face, her expression indulgent and yet still heated somehow, as she tipped her head back to hold his gaze.

“Well?” Shepard prompted him when he didn’t speak. “Too weird?”

“Definitely not too weird,” he murmured. “I’m…not sure what to say. Uh, that is, I like it. You. Enough that it’s making me this inarticulate.” He let his hands wander to her ass, which he found was _very_ nice to squeeze. “I’m trying to say that I think you’re beautiful,” he finally said, not quite courageous enough to look her in the eye.  “But I’ve always thought that.”

The red flush crept back into Shepard’s cheeks. “Really?” she asked, her voice hushed.

“Really. I’d never have said I was _attracted_ to you until recently, but I’d be lying if I said I’ve never…admired you. Aesthetically.” He cleared his throat, wishing he were just a little better at putting words into a sentence.

She glanced down for a moment, a smile spreading slowly across her face, and then she wrapped her arms around him and stretched up to kiss his scarred mandible.

“Thanks,” she whispered. “Not sure when…I don’t think I’ve heard that in a while.”

“That someone admired you aesthetically?”

“No,” she said, though he’d gotten a laugh out of her. “That I was…beautiful.”

Garrus wondered how it was possible that no one in the damned galaxy—the galaxy that Shepard herself had saved from complete destruction—had bothered to remind this incredible human that she was beautiful. And she _was._ Like he’d told her, he’d never thought of _any_ human as a potential bedmate until recently—but especially now that he’d looked more closely, he’d formed a deep appreciation for the shape of Shepard’s body; the smooth, supple skin over firm muscle; the mane of red hair that never seemed to lay neatly on her head the way Miranda’s did.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his arms winding around her. The hug felt surprisingly natural, although he was still amazed at the way her skin gave under his hands.

“For what?” she asked.

“For not telling you sooner.”

“Damn, Garrus. Wouldn’t have guessed you were such a smooth talker,” she said after a long pause, muffled against his chest plates. “But there’s no need to be sorry. I just wanted you to know that it means a lot.” Her lips pressed against his chest, then his throat.  “So…do _I_ ever get to see the rest?” she asked, tugging at his pants.

Garrus’s heart leapt into his throat. “Oh—right. Uh, one sec.” Shepard released him and he deftly undid his fastenings, sliding the garment off despite the sudden onset of nerves.

Shepard looked fascinated as she looked him up and down, but he couldn’t glean much else from her expression. After a moment, just when he really began to worry, she asked, “You need…stimulation, right? To, to…” she gestured vaguely, “you know.”

Garrus let out a nervous chuckle. “So you did watch the vids. I’m impressed.”

“Oh, shut up.” Catching his anxious gaze, she smiled and stepped closer to him, and then took his hand and laced her five fingers with his three as though she were used to it.

“Garrus?”

“Yes?”

Her smile widened. “I think you’re beautiful, too.” Before he had a chance to do more than flutter his mandibles helplessly, she continued, “I want to touch you.” She squeezed the hand she was holding; his clouded mind registered that she didn’t mean his crest, carapace, or even his waist.

It took entirely too long for him to realize that she was waiting for him to respond. “Oh—well—who am I to say no?” he said finally.

“You can, you know,” she pointed out, sounding almost anxious.

“I know,” he assured her. How strange to think that she was worried about having to _pressure_ him into this. “I want you to.”

“Okay…if you’re sure, I think I have a plan,” she said, pulling away from him. Moving over to the bed, she stacked a few pillows against the headboard. “Think you can lean back on that?”

Garrus crossed the room to lower himself experimentally onto the unfamiliar surface. Human beds, as it turned out, were springy, harder than he was used to, and held their rectangular shape firmly instead of molding to the body. The pillows afforded enough support to lean back on, though, and his crest just cleared the headboard. “I think this’ll work,” he said.

“Good. Now…” she climbed on top of him, straddling his legs. “Damn. You look good from this angle, Vakarian.” Leaning forward, she ran her hands slowly down his chest, her fingers seeking the seams between his plates and then tracing the edges of his hip spurs. “Show me what to do.”

Garrus swallowed and guided her hand down to the seam between his groin plates, both their fingers brushing lightly against the sensitive flesh underneath, and it was only a second before his plates shifted and he emerged right into her waiting hands.

Shepard looked up at him, smiled in a way that meant “this is weird, but it’s okay,” and ran the fingers of both hands up his length and back down again. Whatever differences they had, this clearly wasn’t going to be a problem. Her hands were incredibly soft, and their many fingers weren’t a problem here. He couldn’t restrain a groan as she wrapped her fingers around him and stroked lightly, looking nothing if not fascinated.

“Okay?” she asked, slightly breathless.

“Yeah…I like the way your hand f-feels,” he panted, running his hands up her thighs. “Shepard?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to touch you, too.” He could smell her arousal now; he let his talons wander to the crease of her inner thigh, fascinated still by the way her skin stretched over bone and muscle. “Show me?”

Smiling shyly, she guided his hand between her legs, placing the pad of his finger against her little nub. “Gently,” she reminded him, rubbing his fingers in slow circles over her clit—she made a low humming noise and bit her lip, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Almost reluctantly, it seemed, she took his hand again and pressed his index finger against her entrance, guiding it inside of her. “Bend your finger—there’s a spot just—mmm, right….” She sighed in bliss. “Bonus points if you can hit both of those spots at once,” she challenged him.

Never one to miss an opportunity to show off his dexterity, he placed his palm firmly against her clit, and began to massage her. He bent the finger that was still inside her with each downward motion, and Shepard—this incredibly powerful woman that he used to idolize—let out a moan that sank deep into his ego.

After a moment, Shepard’s hands found him again; she wrapped her fingers around him, her grip firmer than before, and she matched his pace with long, sure strokes that turned his vision red.

He quickened his pace in response, relishing in the way her lips parted, the way she panted and egged him on—her hips joined in the rhythm, bucking against his touch, until finally, back arching, Shepard cried out in ecstasy, and he continued his motions until she let out a long sigh of completion and stilled. _Damn._

He had a moment to just stare at her as she caught her breath. Her face was even more flushed than before, just the barest hint of sweat at her brow, and her eyes were closed, savoring the aftermath. Finally, she opened her eyes, and Garrus realized that her brow was smoother, her mouth more relaxed, and her eyes brighter than he’d seen them in a long time. Spirits, she was beautiful.

Then she leaned down. “Your turn, big guy,” she whispered, and her hand made its way between his legs—he could hardly think past the red haze that had taken over his brain, but her fingers wrapped around him and resumed his pace, as though the rhythm were still stuck in her head, the long strokes of her hand causing heat to pool rapidly behind his plates—he opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and saw Shepard staring intently, biting her lip, eyes bright and focused, and it pushed him over the edge; waves of pleasure rolled through him as he covered her hand in cum. Her hand never faltered or slowed its pace until he was still, breathing heavily, and completely spent.

He was still lying there, trying to catch his breath, when he felt her move away from him. He looked over and saw that she was wiping her hands on a towel she’d picked out of the laundry basket next to her bed.

“Sorry,” she said, “but Mordin said something about a potential reaction.”

He huffed a breathless laugh. “I’ll try not to be too offended.”

When Shepard had thrown the towel back into the basket, she turned back to him, grinning with self-satisfaction. “So, you watched the vids, too?” she asked as she hopped back onto the bed to lie on her side next to him.

Garrus burst into laughter. “What can I say? I’m nothing if not thorough.” He lay a hand at the dip of her waist and let it rest there, her skin hot and damp under his fingers. “So, can I take that as a compliment?” he asked, a hint of nerves coming back to him.

Shepard smiled softly, the fading red flush returning to her cheeks in force. “Yes,” she said quietly, something new blooming behind her bright green eyes.

Garrus’s heart clenched in his chest, and suddenly, he had the sensation of falling through a trap door, the ground disappearing from under his feet, air whooshing past him… _Fuck._

“Shepard….”

There was a depth to his subharmonics that had not been there before, the layers of his voice becoming more distinct, and he could see in her face that, alien or not, she had heard it and knew it for what it was.

Under the surface, beneath his notice, behind the banter and the playfully snarky comments, something had developed between them. Too late to stop it, though he wasn’t sure he would have even if given the chance.

“Shepard, I—“

Shepard placed a finger to his mouth, quieting him—all for the better; he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d planned to say, anyway. “You don’t need to say anything.”

 Garrus pulled her in for a kiss, felt her lips smiling against his mouth plates as she responded, shivered when she ran her fingers down his waist. She had too many fingers, her knees bent the wrong way, her skin was almost frighteningly soft and her flesh more tender than he’d ever have imagined, but she was _Shepard._

“No,” he whispered against her lips, “but I can show you.” 

 

 


	2. Sparring and Scarring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, this chapter happened.

Garrus found, the next day, that it was not so difficult to reconcile Commander Shepard, his superior, with the Shepard who had shown herself the night before. They had met up in the mess hall (in the interest of discretion, Garrus had left her cabin for his own quarters late into the night), and greeted each other, grinning sheepishly. Shepard, Garrus, Tali, and Jacob usually ate breakfast together, and sometimes Miranda would even join them, looking more alert and put-together than anyone had any right to look so early in the morning.

Shepard and Garrus each retrieved their breakfast and sat down across from each other at the table. Today, Gardner had made an attempt at one of the few quarian recipes he could find that included meat, telling them proudly that he’d figured he could make both Tali and Garrus, who was largely carnivorous, happy. It wasn’t the best breakfast he’d ever had, but it was better than nutrient paste.

Shepard had piled her plate high with large cubes of something starchy; some long strips of salty-smelling meat, and something slimy that had a sickly yellow hue to it. She took one bite of her meal and her eyes lit up. “Getting those provisions from the Citadel was the best decision I’ve ever made,” she told Gardner, who was pretending not to hover anxiously as he awaited her reaction. “This omelet is fantastic.”

Gardner positively glowed with pride. “Well, thank you, Commander. You’ve certainly made my job a lot easier, and not just with the ingredients. It’s nice not having to listen to the crew bellyaching while I’m trying to work.”

“Aw, you know we were just messing with you, Rupert,” called one of the Cerberus crewmen from the next table over.

“No respect,” Gardner grumbled good-naturedly.

“You’d better watch it, boys,” Shepard told them with mock seriousness. Unconsciously, it seemed, the crewmen straightened slightly when she addressed them directly. “If you don’t respect the cook, he could choose to use the old rations for your meals.”

One of the kids actually paled. “He wouldn’t do that,” he said, though there wasn’t much confidence in it. “He knows we’re just kidding with him, right, Rupert?”

The cook took pity on the poor kid. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Garrus watched this exchange, his mandibles flicking in amusement, and thought, _Yeah, definitely still the same Shepard._ A part of him had been worried. He was a turian, after all, and turians always put duty first; what if they couldn’t separate the business from the personal? She was his _commander._

But the two of them had never had a strictly professional relationship. She’d been a friend and a mentor on the original _Normandy_ , and on the _SR-2,_ they had become inseparable friends. He had been honest when he’d said she was the only friend he had left, and she seemed to seek him out more often than he was used to. Sometimes, she wanted his opinion on a new piece of tech or wanted to ask his tactical opinion, but more often she dropped by for no reason at all.

This was the same Shepard with whom he’d shared all those long talks in the main battery. This was the same Shepard who’d stopped him from making a decision he would have regretted, who’d taught him so much about morality and duty, and who had slowly become a major fixture in his life. The only difference now, after the previous night, was that he had seen more of her—physically and otherwise—than he’d seen before.

She was still his commander, and she was still his best friend. And he would still follow her anywhere.

 

~*~

 

For the next few weeks, they did nothing but run errands. They traveled to the Migrant Fleet’s location to defend Tali against ludicrous accusations of treason, and stopped Thane’s son from assassinating a politician. Shepard even made a stop to blow up a Cerberus research facility for Jack, which of course couldn’t be as simple as it sounded.

“We almost didn’t even need to plant the bomb,” Shepard laughed at dinner that night. “I almost blew the whole place just shutting that obnoxious krogan up.”

Garrus laughed with the rest of the group, but it was slightly forced. Looking at Shepard closely for the first time in weeks, he noticed that every time she fell silent and looked back down at her plate, a crease would appear between her brows that he had rarely seen there before. Her skin seemed to be paler—was it a mood thing, like the blushing?—and there was a downward curve to her lips that became more pronounced the longer he looked.

His thoughts were confirmed when she stood and dumped her half-eaten food into the waste chute, waving at the group and taking her leave. The angle in her shoulders and the way she dragged her feet on the way to the elevator spoke the truth he’d been suspecting—Shepard was wearing thin.

Garrus wasn’t sure what to do with this information. After their meal, everyone returned to their respective haunts. The turian tried to focus on calibrating the new gun—the Thanix cannon had just been installed and it had proven itself to be very finicky—but he couldn’t concentrate. What should he do? He was her subordinate; she might even be upset to hear of his observations.

But Shepard didn’t act like any turian commander he’d ever had, and as far as he knew, her leadership style was even unusual for a human. Even regardless of their recent… _relations_ (no need to add that layer of confusion to this predicament), they weren’t just a subordinate and his commander. They were friends. He was stuck, unsure if they were close enough that he could admit witnessing her weakness without making her angry or defensive.

Garrus’s internal monologue was suddenly interrupted when the door to the main battery opened. He turned around, and of course it was Shepard. No one else ever came to visit him here.

“Shepard,” he greeted her. “Need me for something?”

“Have you got a minute?”

He looked over his shoulder at his many failed calibration attempts and hit a button to clear the screen. He wasn’t getting anywhere, anyway. “Definitely. What’s on your mind?”

She shrugged. “How’s the Thanix cannon’s installation going?”

He grimaced, his mandibles pulling downward. “Slowly,” he admitted.

“It’s a hell of a piece of machinery,” she said. “It’ll give us a real edge against the Collectors.”

“Yeah, it’s the best weapon that the turian fleet has to offer right now, especially for a ship as small as the _Normandy._ But the firing algorithms are complicated.”

Shepard shrugged again, but this time there was a hint of a smile on her face. “I’m sure you can manage. You’ve certainly had enough practice.”

“Shepard. Did you really come all the way down here to talk about giant guns? Not that I mind—but you’ve never shown a particular interest in tech.”

She sighed. “No,” she admitted, “but I don’t really know why I _did_ come down here.”

Garrus hesitated, and then said “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You’re…are you all right?”

She looked at him, surprise written all over her face. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, not sure how to tell her what he’d noticed. “You just look so tired. I may not be an expert on humans or anything, but I have worked with humans for years, and it’s not exactly difficult to tell when someone is exhausted.”

Her face flushed and she looked down at the floor. Just as he’d started to worry that he’d offended her somehow, she said, “I haven’t really been sleeping.”

“Why not?”

It was Shepard’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know. Lots of stuff in my head. I did just come back from the dead, you know. And of course, I came back to find that there was another galaxy-saving mission I had to complete. Not that I really mind, of course; someone has got to stop the Collectors and I’m proud to be the one to try. But I haven’t even had time to come to terms with…all of this.”

“All of what?”

Shepard looked at him now, biting her lip with her blunt teeth. She was silent for so long that he almost apologized for asking, but then she said, “I don’t know how Cerberus brought me back. All I know is that I woke up on a table, and I’m half made of metal now, and most of my old scars are gone. My body doesn’t feel the same anymore. I don’t even know what I am.” She took a deep breath. “One minute, I was watching the _Normandy_ explode, watching every escape pod fly off without me—“ Garrus flinched; he hadn’t really thought about how it must have felt to watch her ship die, “—and the next, I’m waking up on an operating table and Miranda’s yelling at me to get into my armor and go shoot things.” She managed a weak smile. “I didn’t even have time to think before I was fighting my way out of that lab, talking through a QEC to a man who claimed that he’d funded my—my _resurrection_ —and then boarding a shuttle to some nowhere colony, where I had to fight some more.”

Garrus stared at her for a few moments. “Well, as to _what_ you are, I can’t say. I know next to nothing about biology, and human biology even less. But, yeah, you _have_ changed, Shepard.” Her eyebrows contracted and he hastened to elaborate. “But no more than I would have expected after what you’ve been through. Honestly, I’d be more concerned if you _were_ the same Shepard from the original _Normandy._ You’ve got a shorter temper now, and you take more risks in combat. Your whole fighting style has changed. Maybe you’re a little more…rebellious. But who can blame you? You’re pissed off and you’ve been given a whole lot of responsibility with very few rules.” He smiled at her. “Of course you’ve changed, Shepard. That’s a part of being alive; adapting to new circumstances.”

Shepard just gazed at him, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly as though she were going to speak—but she didn’t say anything. Garrus felt a vague smugness at having rendered her speechless.

“Damn, Garrus,” she managed finally. “Is that a predator thing? Watching people so closely?”

“Huh. Maybe,” he said, “but it also has a lot to do with having been a leader before, and remember that I _did_ have you as an example.” He didn’t mention that he watched her more closely than anyone else on the ship.

“That’s right,” Shepard muttered. “It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that two whole years happened without me.”

She brooded for a few more seconds, then sighed and stood up. “Come on, Garrus. Let’s spar.”

He raised his brow plates at her. “Are you serious?” he asked flatly.

Shepard grinned, some of the tension draining from her stance. “You have reach, and I have flexibility. You have armored plating, and I have biotics.”

“I don’t think that’s fair, Shepard.”

“Come on. I’ll put up a barrier so you don’t have to pull your punches, and you can wear your armor if you’re scared of my big bad biotics.”

Garrus regarded her skeptically for a few more seconds, and then he stood up as well. “You’re on,” he said. “No armor; I come by that naturally. But you’d better make sure that barrier is a good one--I know just how _tender_ you are under all that talk.”

“I’m going to have to kick your ass for that one, Vakarian.”

 

~*~

 

 

“Had enough yet?” Shepard teased, out of breath and grinning.

“Please, Shepard,” Garrus retorted, “don’t insult me.” He took a swing at her and it landed, bouncing harmlessly off of her barrier. “I know your fighting style better than you do.”

Shepard snorted, blocking a second hit and using the opening to land a solid punch under Garrus’s arm. “Sure you do, Vakarian. You don’t seem to know your own that well, though—“ She dropped suddenly, one leg sweeping into Garrus’s ankles from the front and sending him face-first into the floor mat. “—even I know that a turian’s weakest point is his ankles.”

Garrus looked piercingly up at her from his prone position on the floor. “Good one, Shepard…should’ve known you’d fight dirty.” The turian reached up and grabbed the waist of Shepard’s pants and, in a split second, had pulled her down to the floor with him. “A human’s center of gravity is her hips,” he informed her smugly. “If I’d known you weren’t going to play nice, I’d have done that at the beginning.”

Laughing, Shepard sat up to look at him. “Fair enough. Guess I deserved that one. So, call it a tie?”

“Oh, I guess so,” Garrus replied, reaching over for their water bottles. He tossed Shepard’s over to her and she caught it deftly.

“I can see why this is common on turian ships,” she commented after she’d taken a few large gulps. “I feel much better now.”

Garrus stretched his legs out in front of him, wincing. “Humans seem to react to stress in most of the same ways as turians,” he noted. “Maybe the Alliance would do well to start installing sparring rings on their ships.”

Shepard grinned. “If nothing else, we should have one on this ship. It _is_ of half-turian design, after all.”

“Good point,” Garrus mumbled, distracted by the way she had folded her legs. Somehow, when she was wearing exercise shorts instead of her usual baggy pants, they looked smaller and more nimble. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he had no fetish for humans, but he couldn’t deny that Shepard’s body could bend in utterly fascinating ways.

“See something you like, Vakarian?”

Startled, Garrus looked up. Shepard was smirking at him. “Sorry, I was just…noticing. Your legs.”

“My legs?” Shepard stretched her legs out in front of her and looked at them. “Pretty different from yours.” She looked at him, and he almost missed the flash of unease across her face. “Does it bother you?”

He would never have realized how nervous she was, except that he felt the same way every time she looked at him. Did she like what he saw? Was his body too alien? Could she even be attracted to him, different as they were?

Garrus let his gaze wander, from her feet all the way up to her disheveled ponytail. “No,” he told her softly. “They look right on you. I mean, your knees are supposed to bend that way and your feet are supposed to stand flat on the ground. They’re not the same as mine, but they’re how they’re supposed to be.”

“Almost,” she corrected him softly.

“Almost?”

“They aren’t quite what they’re supposed to be. I had a scar, right here,” she told him, tracing a line on her calf. When Garrus raised his brow plates in a question, she elaborated. “I was fourteen, showing off for my friends. I climbed to the top of a pile of scrap metal on the edge of the colony, and I slipped. Cut myself pretty badly.” She smiled sadly. “I liked that scar. Reminded me not to be an arrogant show-off.”

“Scars do make handy reminders,” said Garrus dryly. “This one time I took on a gunship and tried to block a rocket with my face. Now I know not to do _that_ anymore.”

Shepard rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. They’re physical representations of mistakes you’ve made. Not pretty, not fun to remember, but a huge part of who you are as a person. I probably would have gotten rid of that scar if I’d had the chance, but now that it isn’t there anymore, I sort of miss it.”

They were silent for a few moments, Garrus absentmindedly scratching at the right side of his face. “If I had a scar for every time I ever screwed up, I wouldn’t have any plates left,” he mused.

“Sure you would, at least from the neck up. Nothing can get through that hard head of yours.”

“Except rockets.”

“Right. Except rockets.”

 

~*~

 

The next day, Garrus was sitting alone in the mess hall in the middle of the night. Turians slept differently from humans; rather than sleeping for an eight-hour stretch, they slept in two three-hour periods, with a waking period of about the same length in between. It had something to do with the cycles of Palaven’s moons—during the period of the night in which both moons were visible, the sky was bright enough that ancient turians would awake; then, when Menae set, they would go back to sleep until morning. Turian sleep cycles had adjusted accordingly.

As Garrus sat there, poring over a datapad, he heard the elevator coming down and looked up curiously. No one ever came down here this late; even the medbay was dark and empty.

To his surprise, Shepard came around the corner, striding purposefully toward the stove and running her fingers through her hair. She didn’t even see him sitting there until he spoke up. “Hey.”

Shepard jumped and wheeled around, her hand moving reflexively to her hip—even in the middle of the night, on her own ship, she carried a sidearm. Her hand retracted once she saw who’d addressed her. “Jeez, Garrus. Don’t do that. Catch me on a bad day and you’ll be slammed against the back wall faster than you can say ‘biotic throw.’”

Garrus laughed quietly. “Someone’s a little jumpy. What are you doing up?”

“Guess I’m kind of wired,” Shepard muttered. “Long day.”

Garrus looked at her curiously. “Is this about Miranda and Jack?”

Earlier that day, they’d made yet another trip to Illium to oversee Miranda’s sister’s relocation. Garrus had been on the ground team, and while the mission didn’t go as planned (did it ever?), Oriana had safely boarded the transit and no harm was done. No sooner had they returned to the ship and changed out of their armor, however, than Garrus had heard shouting from Miranda’s office. He’d been trying to decide whether to intervene immediately or call for Shepard when he’d seen his commander already striding purposefully out of the elevator. A few minutes later, Jack had stormed out of the office and into the elevator, looking murderous.

“Sort of,” muttered Shepard, putting some water on the stove to boil. “But it’s more about the whole squad.”

“What do you mean?”

Shepard sighed and sat down across from him, rubbing her temples. “Soldiers enlist for lots of reasons. Some have the idealistic reasons—to defend their homes. Some just don’t know what else to do with themselves.” He noticed the way her eyes darted downward just before she looked up at him with a wry smile. “I know turians have to enlist in the military, so you can translate this into staying in after your required time. What I’m getting at is that no matter why you enlisted—or why you stayed—when you’re in the field, when you’re on a mission, the mission objective is important to you.” She paused, seeming unsure how to word what she was trying to say. “No matter how important the mission is, though, at least half of you is fighting for another reason—to protect the guy next to you. It fuels you in the moment, when you’re overwhelmed by the enemy, when you need that second wind, you start to think to yourself, ‘How am I going to get my team out alive?’ It’s a more powerful motivator, sometimes, than getting the mission done. Or, at least, it should be. In a good team.” She sighed again. “We’ve got some great people with us here, Garrus, and I’ve never seen a more talented group of individuals. But that’s the point—we’re _a group of individuals_ , not a _team._ ”

Garrus was quiet for a long moment. “Shepard, how do you choose your ground teams?” he asked finally.

Shepard looked at him, surprised. “I usually pick them based on what I know of the mission. Like, when we went to Haestrom, I made sure I had you and Kasumi with me. I knew at the time that you two would be the most effective against geth. Sometimes I’ll also pick them based on how they’ll coordinate. Jacob and Miranda make a powerful combination because they know each other so well.” She smirked. “And because biotic detonations make pretty explosions.”

Uncomfortably, Garrus fiddled with the datapad in front of him. “I hope you don’t think I’m overstepping, Shepard…but have you thought about maybe choosing differently? You just said that you like to pair Jacob and Miranda because of how well they know each other, and that’s sound logic. But in this case, every mission is just in preparation for our ultimate goal: storming the Collector base. Maybe you should think of our missions as team-building exercises. Teach them how to work together.” He looked askance at her and added, “You know nothing builds a bond like surviving firefights together.”

Shepard smiled, that new kind of smile he’d never seen until recently. “That’s for sure,” she said, laying a hand on top of his. “Sometimes it still surprises me how much you’ve changed. Like I’ve said before, I forget that two whole years happened without me. You’re not the same turian I met on the Presidium when we were hunting Saren.”

“No,” he agreed, knowing he was being uncharacteristically serious. “I’m not. You’re not the same, either.” He turned his hand over to grasp her fingers, like she’d shown him.

“I think you’re right about the team,” she said quietly. “But I’ll have to keep you out of rotation for a while. If there’s one person that everyone’s learned to work with, it’s you.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a laugh. Having a sniper on a team with a biotic was just common sense—their skills balanced out perfectly. And it didn’t hurt that they knew each other’s fighting style so well that verbal communication was almost unnecessary. Shepard had chosen Garrus for a disproportionate number of missions so far. “I’m sure I’ll find some way to keep myself occupied. That cannon is one of the most finicky pieces of tech I’ve ever seen.”

“More finicky than the Mako?”

“The Mako was never complicated, Shepard. I spent so much time working on it because you spent so much time wrecking it.”

“Ass,” she retorted, squeezing his hand and smiling. “We’re not the same,” she added, looking down at their joined hands, “but I think—when all is said and done—we’re better for it.”

In the silence that followed, they stared at each other, not sure where to go from there. Suddenly, there was a loud hiss from the stove, and they both jumped. The water that Shepard had put on the stove was boiling over—they’d completely forgotten about it. Laughing, Shepard squeezed his hand, released it, and stood, making her way over to the stove to make her tea.

Garrus’s hand felt strangely empty now.


	3. Combat Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ripped this whole chapter apart and I have to be honest; I've found that writing combat is fucking HARD, so I plugged away at this until I was happy about it. Hopefully this version is more satisfying.

“Garrus?”

“Shepard. What’s going on?”

The commander shifted on her feet, looking uneasy. “I just talked to Miranda.”

“And?”

“And she wants to go and get the Reaper IFF, and head straight for the Omega-4 Relay from there. She wants to stop for a refuel and to stock up on supplies on the Citadel, and head out no later than next week.”

“Next _week_?” Garrus cleared the screen on his console and faced Shepard fully, looking incredulous.

“We’ve—I’ve—it’s been six months, Garrus. They took Ferris Fields.”

Garrus opened his mouth to object—they’d known about Ferris Fields for several weeks already; the loss of the colony, while tragic, did not mean that they had to race immediately for the Relay—but then he looked at Shepard properly for the first time. Her hair was down, instead of in its usual ponytail, and it looked like she’d repeatedly run her fingers through it; her eyes were wider and more frantic-looking than usual. Garrus hadn’t seen Shepard so visibly ruffled since the Council grounded the original _Normandy_ during their hunt for Saren. He swallowed the first few comments that came to mind. “Do you think we’re ready?” he asked instead.

“How can we ever be completely ready? More importantly, I don’t think it matters whether we’re ready or not. They’re using the colonists for _something_ ; there’s got to be a reason they kidnap them instead of just killing them all. The longer we wait, the more colonies are abducted. The more colonies they take, the closer they get to whatever they’re trying to achieve.”

“I see your point, and I think the team is more cohesive now than ever—you’ve made so much progress with them in the past few weeks—“

“Thanks to your advice.” Shepard managed a small smile.

“—but we’ve never worked outside of the three-person squad that you favor. You’re going to need a lot more than two people watching your back out there, Shepard.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Who knows how everyone is going to work together in such a large group? Miranda is bound to try and take charge, especially if we have to split up, and Jack is definitely going to try to rebel. And can you imagine if Grunt had to take orders from someone other than you? Not to mention that I don’t think Kasumi and Tali have ever even seen a firefight together.”

Shepard’s shoulders slumped slightly as she realized the truth of what Garrus was saying, and he almost regretted pointing it out, but then she lifted her chin and he saw the steely look in her eye and the set of her jaw that meant “I’m going to fix this.” It was the same look he’d seen when she’d learned how the Rachni had taken over Peak 15 on Noveria, when she’d learned of Saren’s faux genophage cure, and when she’d realized that it was him under the helmet in that apartment on Omega. That look was pure Shepard, and he was startled to realize how much it melted his heart.

“I know what we’ll do.”

~*~

 

The shuttle was crowded—they’d never all piled into it before. Grunt was taking up nearly an entire section of seats; Tali was squirming uncomfortably in the square foot of space left over in the corner. Jacob and Miranda were pressed against each other, pursing their lips and avoiding each other’s eye, and Jack was pacing around the tight space like a caged animal. Shepard gave Jack a steady look; scowling, Jack sat back down next to Zaeed, and Shepard stood to address the group.

“All right, everyone. We’re headed down to Neith to answer a distress beacon. EDI, what can you tell us?”

“I am picking up readings that indicate a crashed freighter on the planet’s surface. In scanning the wreckage, I have picked up no signs of organic life. There is, however, movement in and around the ship.”

“Is it the geth?” Shepard asked.

“Unlikely. I am picking up no other vessels on the radar. If my readings are correct, the freighter was carrying a large shipment of security mechs.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Yeah, real great, Shepard,” Jack scoffed. “Shooting down hostile robots is exactly how I wanted to spend my day.”

“Shepard’s right,” Miranda countered. “I can’t think of any better way to get us used to fighting as a group. Mechs are slow and predictable, but there should be enough of them to provide adequate resistance for our purposes.”

“Thank you, Miranda,” said Shepard dryly. She didn’t miss Jack’s scowl, but the young biotic visibly bit back whatever venomous comment she’d had lined up. “So there you have it,” Shepard continued, making a mental note to commend Jack increasing self-restraint. “We’ll hit ground about a kilometer outside of the wreckage to see if we can get a better idea of how many we’re up against. VI, I need a visual,” she added.

The shuttle’s external camera kicked on, and the monitor blinked to life just as they were making their descent. The surrounding rocky hills were tinted a most interesting shade of burnt orange. The sky looked threatening, but maybe it was always that shade of slate gray. There was a fortunate patch of flat ground amongst the surrounding rock structures, just far enough from the wreckage that they could enter the scene on their own terms.

The shuttle touched down and everyone gratefully vacated the cramped interior. Just as the doors closed, the shuttle’s VI informed them of an incoming sandstorm and recommended they proceed with caution.

“Bloody brilliant,” muttered Zaeed. “A bunch of pissed off mechs _and_ a goddamn sandstorm.”

“Okay, people, we’re on a time crunch now,” Shepard announced, ignoring the merc’s disgruntled comments. “Tali, Kasumi, I want you on salvage duty.”

“Way ahead of you,” the quarian replied, scanning a crate with her omni-tool.

“Snipers in the back,” Shepard continued. “Biotics up front with me. Everyone keep your weapons out and eyes sharp. Let’s move.”

Shepard followed her radar, signaling her squad to fan out a bit as they approached the wreckage. The wind was already starting to pick up as Tali and Kasumi gathered what salvage the site had to offer and Shepard located the distress beacon, blinking high above the rest of the scattered cargo and ship parts.

“Here we go,” Shepard called. Approaching the beacon, she shut off the signal and picked up a nearby datapad. “And here’s a report…hmm…looks like some kind of virus got into the mechs’ systems. They were activating and self-destructing…the VI seems to have malfunctioned, too.” She sighed. “I suppose that means all of the mechs self-destructed. So much for combat training. Let’s just—“

“Weather conditions worsening. Immediate evacuation recommended,” the VI intoned.

“What the VI said,” Shepard affirmed.

“ _Excuse me!_ ”

There was a split second in which everyone looked around for the source of the monotonous voice, and then everyone was shaken out of it by the sound of gunfire.

“Get into cover!” shouted Shepard.

“What were you saying, Shepard?” called Garrus, the whole team scattering for cover as ten infected LOKI mechs came marching around the corner, weapons raised.

“Very funny, Garrus!” Crouching behind a sturdy crate, Shepard caught Jack’s eye from a few feet away. The tattooed biotic had found refuge behind a piece of scrap metal, and she shot Shepard a smirk.

“You thinking what I’m thinking, boss lady?” she called over the radio, her hands already beginning to glow with dark energy.

“Can’t pass it up,” agreed Shepard. “They’ve made it far too easy. On my mark—wait for it— _now!_ ” Simultaneously, the two women stood from their cover and threw a double shockwave right down the middle, knocking all but one mech to the ground.  
“ _Nice_ one!” Jacob crowed. Of course he’d never seen that particular move before—she liked to keep her three-man teams well-rounded and wasn’t inclined to put three biotics on one mission. Now that she thought about it, Jacob and Jack had never seen each other in combat, either. Damn Garrus and his budding leadership potential. It wasn’t often that someone was able to successfully critique her team-building techniques.

Then again, it wasn’t often that she welcomed such criticism. She did, after all, have her pride.

As her snipers took over the mechs—oh, and it _was_ a beautiful sight to see those damned robots dropping like flies as they attempted to recover from the biotic attack—Shepard took the opportunity to get a good look at the battlefield. “Salvage team, find me some more intel if you can. The rest of you, finish off those—oh.” The battlefield had gone silent, the last sniper shot carried off by the increasingly strong wind. “Good work, people. Damn. Should take you all out with me more often.”

“They’re just mechs,” Grunt scoffed. “Worthless.”

“Plus they lined up all nice and neat for us,” Jack added, smirking.

“Downloading relevant intel,” Tali piped up.

“Stealing isn’t as fun if the owners are already dead,” Kasumi sighed as she and Tali rejoined the group, “but they did leave us some nice resources.”

“All right, everyone, don’t get complacent. That datapad said the ship was carrying no less than 180 LOKIs and an YMIR,” Shepard told her team. “Fortunately for us, it looks like every damned one of them is between here and the shuttle. Let’s get this done before the storm comes to a head. Form up and follow me.”

The squad proceeded carefully down the path, a narrow canyon between two massive rock walls. The distinct sounds of mechanical footsteps echoed in the small space as more mechs closed in on their position. “Stay sharp,” Shepard ordered. “Don’t let the YMIR sneak up on us.” 

“Like we wouldn’t hear it coming?” asked Tali, deploying a combat drone to flit ahead of them. “They’re not exactly stealthy!”

Shepard ignored Tali’s comments, because at that moment another squad of mechs came into view. “Concussive shots on my mark…” she ordered, “… _now!_ ”

Most of the mechs fell to the ground. “Samara, Jacob, Jack—let’s send ‘em flying!” she yelled in the ensuing pause.

The few mechs who’d remained standing despite her team’s concussive shots—and a few who hadn’t—lifted simultaneously off the ground. “Snipers, have a little fun,” ordered Shepard, and watched with deep satisfaction as one by one, the mechs fell from their dark energy fields and stayed motionless on the ground.

“Your double pull is impressive, Shepard,” Samara remarked; Shepard grinned a little too widely. To have her biotics commended by an asari justicar would never get old.

“Thanks, Samara. I learned from the best,” she returned. “Clean ‘em out, people!”

And they did, more quickly than she’d expected. This was too easy. Time to raise the stakes.

“The path splits up ahead!” Shepard called. “I want Tali, Jack, Grunt, and Miranda down the left side. Garrus, you’re leading that team. I’ll take the rest down the right and we’ll meet back up on the other side. Go!”

“You’ve got it, Shepard!” Garrus replied.

As Shepard and her team proceeded down the path on the right, they heard the telltale footsteps of the YMIR mech. “Here it comes,” Shepard said over the metallic clanks. “Garrus, we’ve got the YMIR on our side; you’re clear,” she added over the radio.

“ _I wouldn’t say that!_ ” he retorted, his voice coming in through the radio static.

“Kasumi, work on those shields for me!”

“No problem,” said Kasumi from behind cover. She stood, omni-tool glowing, and everyone saw the sparking of the mech’s shields.

“Close, but no cigar. Automatic weapons, people. Zaeed, disruptor ammo!”

“I’m on it!”

“ _Tali, get me a combat drone out there! Give them something else to shoot at!”_

_“My omni-tool is overtasked!”_

_“Shit. Stay in cover until it cools down--Grunt, move forward and try to flank them. Miranda, get him some cover fire. I need shockwaves down the middle, Jack.”_

“Shepard!”

Shepard was startled out of her reverie by a flash of blue light directly in front of her. A LOKI mech had somehow made it past Samara and Kasumi up front and had fallen less than two meters from where Shepard had taken cover. She looked behind her and saw Thane, hands still glowing faintly blue, and looking worried.

“Shepard, are you injured?” he asked.

“I’m fine, Thane. Good save. Thanks.” Shepard turned her attention back to the fight, kicking herself for losing focus.

“Its shields are down, Shep,” Kasumi called nonchalantly.

“Nice work. Samara, Kasumi, fall back and keep the LOKIs off of us. Mordin, deploy incendiary tech. Zaeed, Thane—sniper rifles out. Let’s tear this thing apart!” she snarled, whipping out her own Viper.

With Kasumi and Samara on crowd control, the rest of the team was free to focus on the YMIR, but it wasn’t acting like the mechs they were used to. Its shots were erratic and it didn’t tend to focus on the leader of the group, as most mechs were programmed to do. It also seemed to be overusing its rocket arm; she watched helplessly as an explosion went off not three meters from Kasumi’s position. The virus must have been fucking with its protocol.

“Shep—I’m pinned—“ Kasumi had obviously tried to take cover from the YMIR, but unfortunately that had put her right in firing range of a pair of LOKIs that had gotten around her in the meantime. Her shields sparked violently and went dark just as Shepard turned her head to look.

“Mordin, get the hell in there and help her!”

“Not necessary!” he called, pulling out his Carnifex. Three shots dispatched the mechs cleanly, both of them dropping to the ground headless before self-destructing. Shepard had forgotten the hell Mordin could wreak with a pistol, especially _that_ pistol. A salarian after her own heart, that one.

“Thanks, Prof. I owe you one,” panted Kasumi.

“She’s gonna blow!” bellowed Zaeed. As the YMIR fell to its knees, Shepard’s squad took cover against the resulting explosion, which took out the last two LOKI mechs.

“Convenient,” quipped Mordin.

“YMIR mech is down,” Shepard said into her radio. “Bravo team, what’s your status?”

The sound of a single sniper shot resonated over her speakers, and Garrus’s voice came soon after, sounding smug: “All clear, Commander.”

Shepard smirked. “Nice work, people. Now let’s get out of this storm. Double-time!”

They made it back to the shuttle just as the sandstorm came to a head. As the shuttle took off, Shepard turned to look at her team. “We did it, everyone. Nice work out there. Anyone hurt?”

“I took a little fire,” Miranda said, wincing, “but it’s nothing serious. Just a graze.”

“Kasumi received second-degree burns from YMIR mech rocket explosion,” Mordin observed.

“Shame. I liked this suit,” Kasumi said regretfully, looking down at the scorched fabric on her side.

“Okay. The two of you need to head down to the med-bay as soon as we get back. The rest of you, take some R&R—you deserve it. We’ll gather in the debriefing room later for a full mission review.”


	4. Debrief

After a quick shower and change, Shepard went up to the terminal in her quarters and pressed the button for the main battery. “Garrus, I’m in my quarters. You ready for the debrief?”

“I’ll be right up, Commander.”

Shepard heard the chime just a few minutes later that indicated that the elevator had stopped on her level, and she opened the door just as Garrus stepped out of the lift.

“Hey, Garrus. Come on in.” He obliged, eyes sweeping the area as they always did when he entered a room. She wondered if he even noticed he did it. “Have a seat.”

He did, his posture ramrod straight and his whole body language open and very formal. Shepard smirked and sat down across from him in her office area, crossing an ankle over the opposite knee and slouching down in her seat, ostentatiously at ease. “Relax, Garrus. I appreciate the respect, but neither of us is in the military anymore.”

Garrus’s mandibles relaxed from their tightened position on his face and he let his posture drop a little. “Sorry, Shepard. But this mission was important and you gave me a lot of responsibility. Turians are raised to be very…well-behaved…in these situations.”

“I know it was unexpected. You handled the sudden leadership appointment well.”

“What made you decide to split the teams? Er, if you don’t mind my asking. Commander.”

Shepard refrained from telling him, again, to relax. One unexpected field exercise and he had immediately reverted back to the stuttering recruit he’d been when he first stepped onto the original _Normandy_. “It would’ve been way too easy otherwise,” she told him simply. “We’re working with the best of the best that the galaxy has to offer, and we took out that whole squad of mechs in less than four minutes. Needed a bit more of a challenge.” Shepard sat a bit more forward and uncrossed her legs, instead leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “So tell me, how did everything go over there? I had to completely tune you all out; I nearly got myself killed envisioning your side of the battlefield and disregarding mine.”

“It was…acceptable. Jack is difficult to rein in; she’s much better-behaved when you’re giving the orders. I think I earned her respect, though, when I shot down a mech that had managed to flank her. She listened better after that. Miranda was also reluctant to follow orders and kept making suggestions; that was a little problematic. I don’t need to tell you how Grunt fights; it’s just a matter of putting him where he’s most effective. I overused Tali’s tech abilities, because I’m familiar with them, and at first I underused the biotic abilities of the group. Then I remembered how I used to make that mistake on Omega—“ a familiar shadow passed over his face, as it always did when he talked about those two years, “—and after a few tries, I was ordering biotic detonations that would have made you proud.”

Shepard was silent a moment, nodding slowly as she processed everything he’d told her. “Sounds like you have a grasp on the squad’s strengths. How did you position everyone? Did you keep to the back?”

“Yeah, I had a better view of the battlefield that way; not to mention that I had two biotics and a krogan on the squad. I had no place up front with a force like that.”

“I had the opposite problem,” she confessed. “I wasn’t able to see the entire field at once, because I already had Thane and Zaeed behind me and they’re more than enough for sniper support. Kasumi and Miranda don’t have the best defensive skills. Jacob is a little better, but he couldn’t provide cover fire for both of them.”

They continued on this vein for some time, hashing out and analyzing every detail and applying it to what little they knew about the Collectors’ tactics.

“I knew that your experience would be valuable,” she added after they’d gone over everything. “Mordin has leadership experience, too, but he’s never worked with biotics. Jacob has great potential, but he’s only ever worked with humans. You worked with all kinds of different specialists on Omega, so I knew you’d have the best-rounded perspective.”

Garrus’s mandibles pulled in tight to his face, and there was a higher pitch to his subharmonics when he said, “I’m glad I could contribute.”

With the battle discussion over, Shepard’s voice softened. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know what it means to lose good people.”

Shoulders tight and eyes averted, Garrus nodded. “I know you do. It’s hard to convince myself that I’m worthy to lead again.”

“Garrus.” She waited until he’d met her eyes to continue. “I want you to be my lieutenant when we hit the Collector base. You’ll need to work with the squad a bit more, learn them, earn their respect—but no one is more qualified than you. You’ve got to be willing, though. If you’re going to falter, or if you won’t be in this with a clear head, then I need to know now.”

Garrus’s mandibles fell slack. “What about Miranda?”

“No one trusts Miranda except for Jacob and me,” she explained. “Especially the non-humans, and Jack, of course. Your biggest problem will be with Grunt, but I’ll talk to him beforehand. I’m his battlemaster, and if I phrase it right, he’ll understand that you’re my right hand and that your orders are my orders.”

“I don’t deserve this, Shepard.”

“Leadership is an honor, Garrus, but it’s more than that. This isn’t reward for good behavior. This is about tactic and putting people where their strengths lie. You are, far and away, the strongest candidate to lead a second team if we need to split up. Are you prepared for that, or not?” She didn’t mean to be harsh, but this was a point that she needed to make. Garrus needed to have his head in the game and he needed to know where she was coming from.

The turian across from her bowed his head. Shepard could almost hear the gears turning in his head. Finally, without raising his eyes to hers, he said, “No.”

In the pause that followed, Shepard tried to formulate a response that would mask her disappointment. She’d thought he’d come much farther than this and now she had to change her plans completely. Before she could open her mouth to reply, though, Garrus finally lifted his head and looked her in the eye. “No,” he repeated. “I’m not prepared. I need some time for that, like you said. But I’m ready. I won’t let you down, Shepard.”

Shepard couldn’t help but grin widely. “Good man,” she said, patting him heavily on his armored shoulder. “In that case, I’ll need a mission review in my inbox within twenty-four hours. Get to it.”

 

~*~

 

In the week following their first venture into split teams, they continued to investigate the infected mechs. Shepard was thrilled to have such a perfect opportunity to hone her team’s cohesive abilities. Granted, their next stop at Jarrahe station was a bit of a disappointment, as no mechs showed up for their impromptu target practice. But the datapads at Jarrahe led them to Hahne-Kedar’s facility on Capek, which was the source of the virus and their key to stopping the production of the mechs.

Fighting their way through the facility was not easy; mechs were not typically much of a threat, but again, their sheer numbers provided enough targets to pose a challenge without actually risking any casualties. After they’d hacked the system into making all the remaining mechs self-destruct, the squad bolted out of the building and piled back into the shuttle, all talking loudly over each other.

Shepard sat down and watched her squad celebrate their victory, almost laughing out loud when she saw Tali and Jacob exchange a high-five.

Scanning the crowd, Shepard caught sight of Garrus; to her surprise, he was talking animatedly with Zaeed. She could hear the distinctive buzz of his voice over everyone else’s. This time, there was no high-pitched tone of anxiety to his subharmonics, his posture was relaxed, and his head was tilted to one side to receive Zaeed’s responses.

The camaraderie felt stronger than ever. For the first time, she really felt that they could get through this mission—the one they’d all called a suicide mission—with the squad intact.

Once they had made it back to the Normandy, Shepard watched her team disperse with a lighter heart than she’d had in months. Jack and Miranda had been perfectly civil—or at least not outright hostile—the entire mission, and Grunt had been cooperative with Garrus; the problems she'd envisioned had never even come to a head.

Thane and Shepard were the last to leave the cargo hold, taking the elevator separately so as not to strain its weight limits. As they stepped in, Thane looked over at her and gave her a rare smile. “I must tell you, Siha, that I am impressed with you. I admit I had my reservations the first time that I boarded this ship; I knew that the mission was dangerous and I had little faith in the abilities of such a…diverse group to handle a mission such as this one.”

“What, you’ve never seen a team that includes not only a criminally violent biotic, a vigilante turian from Omega, and a pair of Cerberus operatives, but a quarian, a tank-bred krogan, and a retired salarian STG operative?” she asked, grinning. “Oh, and led by an undead human Spectre.”

“Shepard, I’ve never seen such a group of people in a room together—even without the adjectives—let alone working together on a months-long mission into uncharted space. Truthfully, that sentence rather sounded like the beginning of a particularly bad joke.” He smiled again, and Shepard couldn’t help but smile back. Thane’s humor was difficult to grasp and it was as dry as the drell homeworld, but it was rare and she couldn’t help but feel honored that he was comfortable enough now to joke with her.

“One last thing,” he added as the elevator doors opened onto the Crew Deck. He paused as though he were phrasing something very carefully, his joking tone gone as quickly as it had appeared. “You and Garrus are a remarkable team,” he said finally, and Shepard tensed ever so slightly. “I sense a very real connection between you. No, you needn’t lie, Siha. This is a small ship and situations like these rarely go unnoticed.”

Shepard could feel the heat rushing to her face and her heart suddenly kicked into overdrive. It felt very much like being a child again and being caught in something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. Her knee-jerk reaction was to play dumb, but she knew she’d never be able to fool Thane. Instead, she said the only thing she could think of: “How did you know?”

“You’re worried that you’ve been unprofessional, or that you’ve somehow failed at hiding it? No, you’ve been very discreet—I noticed through small, unconscious behaviors such as body language. I’m sorry if I’ve been intrusive. I merely wanted to give you some advice.”

Shepard groaned, quickly recovering from her shock at Thane’s observation skills. “Oh, God. You, too? My inbox is full to bursting. Mordin’s sent me everything you can think of, complete with diagrams, articles, vids—“ she quickly stopped talking when Thane actually laughed out loud, holding up a hand to halt her ranting.

“No, no, not that sort of advice; I’ll let you learn what you will…naturally. I was simply going to tell you to hold on to your connection. Liaisons between shipmates are common, but a connection such as the one that you and Garrus share is rare and precious. Protect it, Siha.” On that enigmatic note, Thane placed a hand on Shepard’s shoulder, then turned and stepped out of the elevator.

 

 

Shepard watched Thane exit the elevator, gaping stupidly for a moment before she regained her senses and pressed the button for her quarters. There, she methodically stripped out of her armor, checking every piece for damage and pondering Thane’s words.

She’d always had a fondness for Garrus, almost from the moment they’d met. She liked to spend time with him and they made each other laugh, not to mention their perfectly coordinated battlefield strategies. She would never have denied that she and Garrus had a strong friendship, a strong sense of mutual respect…a connection.

Stripping out of her undersuit, Shepard grabbed a towel and headed for the shower. Maybe it was the hot water, but her mind began to slip away from her appreciation of Garrus’s wry sense of humor and more in the direction of their private time together. They had still only had the one…practice session…since their _your reach, my flexibility_ talk in the main battery. Shepard still wanted to groan aloud at her utter lack of romantic skills—she’d never meant for it to come out like that—but he’d _responded._ He’d said, “ _Definitely._ ” Was there more to this than she’d thought?

As for their one night together…she’d never had such an open, honest, _earnest_ experience before in her life. Most of her sex life thus far had consisted of one-night stands on shore leave and furtive moments when the barracks were abandoned for five minutes—just stress relief, more or less. And, of course, Liara on the SR-1. She’d thought there’d been a connection there, too, but it had ended so suddenly and everything was so different now. And Liara, well, she seemed to have moved on with her life. Shepard had already mourned their brief but passionate relationship…not that it had been easy. The hardest part about coming “back to life” was finding that there was no life (and certainly no nerdy, shy asari girlfriend) to come back to.

Garrus was different now, too, she reflected as she lathered her hair. Cockier and less assured, at the same time. More adult? Certainly not the brash young turian he’d been when they met. But he was _here,_ by her side, and they needed each other. And if the actual sex turned out to be on the same scale as their “practicing,” well—the shiver down her spine had less to do with the shower and more to do with anticipation.

And then there had been that moment, right after their _practice session_ , that moment of change, when a new door opened behind his eyes, and she’d wondered if he’d seen it in her too. She could almost hear the “Oh, _fuck_ ,” in his subharmonics when he’d said her name, the echo of her own thoughts.

A _connection._

To be…protected?

EDI’s voice startled Shepard out of her reverie: “Shepard.”

“EDI! Don’t _do_ that! Why do you even have speakers in my shower?”

“I was not responsible for building the ship, Shepard. If you like, I can go through my logs of the Normandy’s construction and—“

“That won’t be necessary, EDI. Just tell me what you need.”

“I merely wished to inform you that Officer Vakarian is standing in the elevator, prepared for the mission debrief.”

“Shit,” muttered Shepard. “Tell him I’ll be out in a minute. Don’t unlock the door; I’ll do it.”

“Very well, Shepard. Logging you out.”

Shepard quickly rinsed off and stepped out of the shower in her towel. She thought briefly about letting Garrus in while she got dressed—tempting, but unprofessional—and opted instead for a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt. She hesitated only momentarily before opening the door, wondering if she was crossing a line by choosing such casual clothing for a mission debrief, but it _was_ her quarters, and this wasn’t an Alliance operation, so she hit the button for the door before she could over-think it any longer.

To his credit, Garrus recovered quickly from his surprise at her attire. “Commander,” he greeted her, standing at an easy parade rest—unnecessary still, but an improvement over his attitude the first time she’d invited him up for a debrief.

“Garrus. Come on in.”

They sat in her office area again, facing each other, and Garrus’s posture relaxed once they were seated. The debrief was much shorter and more positive than it had been the first time. Garrus even gave her some helpful advice on pairing Samara and Jack together—Shepard never would have considered it, yet it made perfect sense now that Garrus pointed it out. As he told it, the detonations were so powerful that they knocked down half a dozen enemies at once. After hashing it out, they’d come up with a perfect crowd control scenario involving an area reave, a well-placed shockwave, and Grunt’s shotgun.

“I’m glad to hear that Grunt wasn’t giving you problems, by the way,” Shepard commented after they’d gone over the details.

“Yeah, I was surprised to find that the kid does well at following orders. Of course, he’d never listen to me if you hadn’t told him to play nice.”

Shepard quirked an eyebrow. “I never told him to play nice.”

Garrus’s brow plate lifted to mirror Shepard’s and she had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. She liked the way the human expression sat on his face. “You didn’t?” asked Garrus.

“No. It didn’t seem necessary, and obviously it wasn’t.”

“Shepard, he’s a _krogan._ ”

“Right.” Shepard watched this information sink in.

“Shepard…thank you. For the opportunity.”

“Would it sound trite to say that I’m proud of you?” Shepard asked, grinning.

Garrus managed to huff a laugh. “From anyone but you, yeah.” There was a long pause, then Garrus coughed. “Uh, anything else, Commander?”

“Just one thing,” said Shepard, reaching over and opening a desk drawer. Rooting around until she found what she was looking for, she finally presented a large bottle of dual-chirality wine. “I’ve been saving this for a special occasion.”

 


	5. Debrief Again

“So, I should probably tell you,” Shepard mumbled later, running a finger around the top of her wine glass and looking sideways at him on the couch next to her, “I talked to Thane earlier.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it was right after we got back from Capek today. He told me that…” Damn it, why had she even brought this up? Should she tell him everything Thane had said? “Well, he knows about--” About what? About “ _us”?_ That seemed presumptuous somehow. “--about…this.”

Garrus dipped his head and groaned. “Tali does, too.”

“She asked you?”

“She didn’t have to, or so she said. Actually, the way she put it, it seemed almost more like she was…giving her blessing?”

“That’s what it sounded like with Thane, too. So now we have Mordin, Thane, Tali, and Kasumi all going out of their way to give us approval?”

“ _Kasumi_?”

“Yeah…actually, she said that ‘a lot of people’ wanted to see us—together.”

“Shit, Shepard, does _everyone_ know?”

“Sort of seems that way.”

“Should we…?”

“I’ve been thinking about it, and…well, this isn’t a military vessel. You know, for all that people still call me ‘Commander,’ I’m not even in the Alliance anymore. And frankly, I don’t care what the Illusive Man thinks of my personal life. He needs me too much; he won’t try to interfere.” Shepard found that she couldn’t make eye contact; it was much easier to watch her own finger continue to trace the rim of her glass.

“I don’t want to cause a problem for you,” said Garrus. Shepard finally mustered the courage to look him in the eye, only to find that he, too, was following the path of her index finger around and around the glass.

“Oh, _please._ Don’t you think this is the least of our worries? I’m sure the Illusive Man sees it that way, and the crew sure as hell doesn’t seem to mind. But if you’re not comfortable, it’s okay. Like I said before, I don’t want to pressure you. So if you want to call it quits—“

“No, Shepard.” Finally, Garrus looked up and met her eyes, his gaze steady. “Not unless you do.”

Shepard felt her heart flutter, heat rushing to her face. She lifted a hand slowly to his scarred face and placed it on his mandible. “Of course not,” she replied, leaning in slowly. He met her halfway in a kiss, and she felt his hand come to rest on her hip.

He was getting better at kissing, she mused. _More than better,_ she amended, sighing into his mouth as their tongues met. It would never be like kissing a human, but Shepard didn’t particularly care about that—Garrus _wasn’t_ human.

As the kiss broke, Shepard leaned forward to press her forehead to his, taking his example and nuzzling gently. Garrus chuckled. “You’re good at this,” he whispered.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you, as a matter of fact,” she teased.

“So…Shepard…” Maybe it was the wine, but there was something about the way he said her name, the purr in his voice, that sent a rush of warmth through her body and made her inch closer to him. “While we’re on the topic, there’s something that I’ve been wanting to try,” he remarked, shifting his hand to her waist. Shepard didn’t have particularly sensitive skin there, like a turian woman did, but the intent behind it was clear and made her shiver slightly nonetheless.

Shepard grinned. “More…practice?”

“If you’re still interested, that is.”

“You won’t hear an argument from me. What did you have in mind?”

Garrus slid his hand down to her hip and back up to her waist, under her shirt this time. “Let me show you.”

“Go ahead, big guy. Impress me.”

Garrus chuckled as he lifted his hand higher, taking the hem of her shirt with it. “No pressure, of course.”

“Of course.”

The throatiness of his laugh and the quality of his subharmonics were somehow different than usual, and she realized that Garrus had finished half of his bottle of wine. He didn’t seem drunk, exactly, but he seemed to be less hesitant with her now.

 With a little help from Shepard, he lifted the garment over her head and tossed it over the back of the couch; he gave his own tunic the same treatment. Shepard interrupted his methodical clothing removal by lying back on the couch, grabbing his cowl to drag him with her. She pulled until they were horizontal and his naked torso was pressed against hers, the strange texture of his plates feeling new and alien and wonderful against her skin. They stayed like this for a moment or two, kissing lazily, until Garrus tilted his head to nuzzle into the crook of her neck, biting gently. Shepard began to squirm underneath him, sighing again.

“Good?” Garrus murmured against her skin.

“Good,” she replied breathlessly. “But then, you were always a quick learner.”

Nipping at her skin, Garrus’s hand wandered up to cup her breast, massaging gently. “Good.” He pinched her nipple gently, and gave an experimental tug. Shepard arched into his touch and bit her lip hard—he was far too good; she was almost embarrassed at how quickly she was melting under his hands.

“What was it you wanted to try again?” she asked.

“Impatient?”

“Me? Never.” She could feel the flutter in his mandibles, the huff of breath, and the rumble in his chest as he chuckled and couldn’t help but arch against him, letting her hands trace a meandering path from his waist up his back. She smiled when her fingers found that sensitive hide under his fringe and he let out a sort of growl, sliding his hands under the waistband of her shorts and tugging them down, underwear and all.

Garrus took a moment, kneeling between her legs, to just look at her. Shepard could feel herself turning red under his gaze, trying not to feel self-conscious. His expression was as hard to read as usual; she couldn’t get an idea of what he was thinking.

“See something you like?” she asked, going for confidence and maybe falling a little short.

His gaze snapped back up to her face; the spread of his mandibles looked almost guilty for a moment before they steadied and lifted into a turian smile. “Yes,” he replied simply. “Sit up?”

She obliged. He stood from the couch and then knelt in front of her, placing a hand on each of her knees. Finally, Shepard understood what he was going for and she moved forward to the edge of the couch, biting her lip in anticipation and a hint of nerves. Garrus took another moment or two to regard her unfamiliar anatomy, flicking his tongue experimentally—the texture of his tongue was slightly rougher and drier than that of a human’s, but she was more than lubricated enough to compensate. She tried to wait patiently for him to get his bearings, but the gentle motions of his tongue only left her wanting more. Shepard placed her hand on his head, lacing her fingers in the gaps of his fringe. Suddenly, Garrus stiffened and they made eye contact. Shepard felt a rush of blood to her face and retracted her hand. “Sorry,” she said quickly.

She’d forgotten—turian males took great pride in their fringes, aesthetically, but the plating was more brittle there than on the rest of the body. As a result, many preferred not to have them touched at all; the thought of a broken fringe was as shudder-inducing to a turian male as the thought of testicular injury was to a human male. The movement was so automatic that she hadn’t even thought about it. “I didn’t—“

“It’s fine, Shepard. We knew we’d have to face that interspecies awkwardness at some point.” He turned his head to nuzzle her inner thigh. “Now…where was I?” he purred, sending another little shiver through Shepard and cutting off her attempt at another apology.

He turned his attention back to his task, still getting his bearings and driving her mad in the process. Her eyes were glued to him as he gained confidence, seeming to take his cues from her gasps and sighs.

After a few minutes, Garrus removed a hand from where it rested on her hip, blunted talons sliding gently down her inner thigh and back up. She bit her lip hard as he teased her entrance with a long finger, trying not to buck into his mouth. She held her breath as he slowly slid the finger into her, and couldn’t help but let out a long and breathless moan as he began to move it, slowly and rhythmically, in time with the strokes of his tongue. “Oh, God, no, don’t stop,” she panted when he paused, looking rather unsure. To compensate, Garrus picked up the pace a bit, matching the rhythm of her breathing as it became faster. His tongue was warm against her clit; his finger shifted ever so slightly and suddenly he was hitting her spot dead on—she could feel the pressure building quickly inside her--

“I—I’m gonna—“ her words were cut off by a blaze of white light in front of her eyes, her orgasm exploding from her core up her spine, and he kept time, riding out the wave with her until her cries quieted and she stilled.

Shepard kept her eyes closed, head still leaned into the couch, trying to control her breathing. She felt Garrus’s weight sink into the couch next to her and she scooted closer to him. “Gonna have to learn to cuddle,” she mumbled, grabbing his arm and draping it over her shoulders.

“I think I can do that,” Garrus whispered, nuzzling the top of her head. Shepard finally opened her eyes and looked up at him; the fond look he was giving her made her heart melt and her face heat up. “Not bad for a first time, then?” he asked, seeming not to notice.

“’Not bad’? How did you get _so good_ at that?” she asked. “You’re a damn quick study. Or have you had some practice before? Some asari lover I never heard about?”

“No, no asari,” he replied, laughing. “To answer your question, I did…a _lot_ of research. It helps that you’re so… _responsive,_ ” he added, smirking; Shepard couldn’t suppress a smile at the look of triumph on his face. “Wasn’t hard to tell when I was doing something right.”

Shepard leaned up to touch her forehead to his. “Sorry about earlier,” she said.

“It really is fine, Shepard. You don’t have to keep apologizing. The whole point was to make you feel _good_.” His mouth plates brushed her lips, and she yielded to his kiss.

“It’s working,” she murmured between kisses. “You know what this means, though, right?”

“Perks?” he asked. “Better dextro rations, better weapons, and a free pass to the front of the shower line?”

“Smart-ass,” she retorted, though she couldn’t help but laugh.

“No perks, then?”

“I can think of one or two,” Shepard disagreed, shifting to nibble at his neck.

“Mmm, I suppose that’ll do.” He inclined his head to give her better access, closing his eyes and running a hand distractedly up and down her side. “What were you going to say, if not that I get ship-wide special privileges?”

“I was going to say that it’s your turn,” she whispered into his neck. Interestingly, she felt the skin of his neck heat up slightly even as she finished speaking, and more so when she finished her sentence with a light nip to the underside of his mandible.

“You’ll have to help me with these, though,” she added, plucking at the pants he was wearing. “Never had to undress anyone with spurs before.”

Garrus chuckled again and began working at his fastenings. “Say what you like, but someday I’ll show you just how useful hip spurs can be.”

“Don’t go giving me ideas, now,” Shepard warned. “Save it for—what was it?—‘the calm just before the storm.’”

“Right, of course,” Garrus hissed as Shepard began tracing her fingers in the seams between his chest plates, “wouldn’t want to get you too worked up thinking about it. That would just be cruel.”

“Are you trying to tell me something, Vakarian?”

“There was that whole week where every time I went to optimize a firing algorithm, all I could think about was…human flexibility. Human skin. One human, in particular.” He had finally managed to get his pants down over his leg spurs and he kicked them aside.

“Mm. Lucky human,” she whispered, now sliding her hand down his arm and twining her fingers with his. She pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist, then to the tip of each talon, her tongue darting out and her lips parting to take just the tip of one digit into her mouth and sucking lightly. Garrus’s groin plates, already quite loose, parted the rest of the way and he groaned at the sudden release of pressure.

Shepard moved to kneel in front of Garrus, taking him in hand. She pressed a kiss to the base and then to the tip…then she looked up at him, smiling in a way that she was certain looked more nervous than confident. “If you…if this doesn’t work for you, just—“

“Shepard,” Garrus interrupted, “Don’t worry. This works for me.”

Shepard was so surprised and oddly relieved by his blunt admission that she laughed out loud. “All right, then.” She took his hand and threaded his fingers loosely into her hair. “Guiding is okay. Thrusting is not. Pulling my hair is fine, pulling too hard is not. Got it?” she asked, suddenly much less nervous.

“Sounds like a plan,” he replied, sarcastic on the surface with a low growl in his subharmonics that she realized was anticipation.

Returning her attention to his member, Shepard kissed the tip again, but this time, she stayed where she was, her tongue darting out to circle the head. As she wrapped her lips around him, Shepard looked up and made eye contact with Garrus, who looked dazed as he watched her slowly slide her lips down his member and back up. He tasted musky and slightly metallic, and she relished in his breathless moan as she repeated the motion several more times, sucking lightly.

Garrus’s grip on her hair tightened, though not uncomfortably, as she increased the pace. He was more vocal than most human men, which proved to be an excellent motivator; she was eager to keep those sounds coming, loving the dual-toned, almost musical quality of his voice as it rose and fell in the quiet room. Shepard matched her pace to those sounds, feeling a rush of affection and pride as Garrus threw his head back and moaned her name.

The volume of his groans continued to increase as she worked him steadily, not rushing to finish this. It was strange to hear the new and fascinating sounds he was making with his familiar flanging voice, but she had to admit that each low-pitched growl seemed to resonate deep within her, sending waves of heat between her legs again.

Shepard could feel Garrus’s talons scraping gently at the back of her head as his grip on her hair tightened. She picked up the pace even more, one hand stroking his base as her mouth worked the tip. The other hand, resting on his hip, could feel his body tensing, could feel the muscles tautening as he restrained himself from thrusting into her mouth. “Shepard,” he gasped. “I—I—“

Shepard pulled her mouth off of him just in time, using her hand to finish him instead. This put her in an excellent position to watch as his back arched off of the couch, his orgasm rolling silently through him, spilling hotly over her hand—until he finally collapsed back down, chest heaving, mandibles slack—Shepard felt a rush of heat to her face as she stared at him, kneeling on the floor between his legs, realizing how enticing he looked sprawled out in front of her.

To distract herself, Shepard grabbed the towel she’d showered with earlier, wiped her hand on it, then tossed it into Garrus’s lap. As his groin plates began to shift back into place and a sigh of contentment rumbled through his chest, Garrus picked up the towel and dried himself off, folding it in half and tossing it aside when he was done. He looked up and smiled lopsidedly at Shepard. “What was that about cuddling?” he asked, holding a hand out to her.

Shepard smiled back and took his hand, plopping down gracelessly into his lap, burying her head in his neck as one talon stroked up her spine. Shepard suppressed a shiver of pleasure. “Not bad for a first time, then?” she echoed him, proud of how steady her voice was.

Garrus chuckled, that talon still tracing along her spine and lower, lightly caressing the top of her butt before traveling back up. “The vids didn’t do it justice,” he assured her.

Shepard squirmed as Garrus’s other hand ventured to her thigh, mapping out the curve from knee to hip. “Garrus…?” She’d assumed that they’d had plenty of practice for one night and hadn’t planned on him picking up on her arousal; she’d have been perfectly content with the night they’d already had.

“Nice try, Shepard.” She felt his fingers dancing up her inner thigh and she drew a shaky breath, “Thanks for being polite, but I can’t ignore it when you smell so good,” he explained, nuzzling into her neck as he spoke. “Good to know that I can get you so _excited_ with just my good looks,” he added.

Shepard couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed; for all her self-restraint, he’d caught the scent of her arousal. He certainly didn’t seem to mind, though, so she pushed her embarrassment aside. “That and your voice,” she said instead, gasping as his finger found her entrance and teased gently.

“My voice, huh?” He sounded pleased and a little surprised. “And here I thought it was the scars driving you wild.”

Shepard tried to reply with something witty, but her words became lost when one long finger pressed into her wet folds. Instead, she threw her head back and moaned, fingers gripping the edge of his carapace for balance.

“So, tell me, how many times can a human woman come in one night?” The blazing look in his eye betrayed the conversational tone and Shepard slipped a hand under his carapace to stroke at the back of his neck.

“Well,” she replied, grinning slowly, “why don’t you show me?”

~*~

 

The next morning, Shepard’s alarm went off at 0500 Galactic Standard Time, as usual. She tossed off the blankets and shivered when the cold air hit—she hadn’t bothered to get dressed before collapsing into bed the night before. She felt oddly hungover as she stood up, slightly dizzy and dehydrated. Maybe she’d drunk more of the wine than she’d thought. Regardless, she stumbled groggily into the bathroom and dutifully poured herself a glass of water; Dr. Chakwas frequently lectured her biotic patients on their increased risk for dehydration.

It was then that Shepard realized her throat felt sore and tight—she was having trouble getting the water down. Confused, she turned to the mirror, wondering if she’d managed to catch some kind of cold.

When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, Shepard actually groaned aloud. Whatever she’d caught, it wasn’t a cold: she’d broken out into some kind of rash.

 _Great,_ she thought. _I’ve caught some kind of alien bug. So much for that Cerberus-issued immune system._

She leaned closer to the mirror to peer at the rash. It wasn’t pretty: her lips were swollen, as was the rest of her face, and her eyes looked red and irritated. Lumpy red splotches covered most of her face and neck, all the way down to her collarbones. She frowned—they looked like hives. But she’d spent the past four days either on the ship or in her hardsuit; what could she have been exposed to that could possibly cause an allergic reaction?

“Oh,” she said out loud. “Fuck.”

Shepard stared at herself in the mirror, watched her own eyes grow wider and wider as she realized exactly what had happened. “ _Fuck,_ ” she muttered again. Already, she was having to restrain herself from scratching—she could see the marks on her chest from where she’d scratched in her sleep.

It took a few minutes of frantic thinking, but Shepard eventually decided to send Mordin a message—there was no way she could leave her cabin looking like this, and she didn’t exactly have time to take a sick day. The advantage to sending the message to Mordin was that she could be concise; she didn’t think he’d ask too many questions.

 

_0509 GST: Shepard: Experiencing allergic reaction to dextro-amino acids. Swelling, hives; no respiratory symptoms. Course of action?_

_0510 GST: Solus: Location?_

_0510 GST: Shepard: My cabin._

_0511 GST: Solus: No. Location of hives and swelling._

_0511 GST: Shepard: Oh. Face, throat, mouth._

_0511 GST: Solus: Will be up momentarily._

_0512 GST: Shepard: Thank you._

Shepard mentally thanked whatever deity was listening that the hives were on her face, as opposed to—elsewhere. She let out a long sigh and started getting dressed, making a mental note to buy something _really_ nice for Mordin the next time they were on the Citadel. While she waited, she grudgingly accepted that she needed to send Garrus a message as well—he should at least get an anti-allergen injection, just in case.

As soon as she brought up her omni-tool interface, it pinged—a message from Garrus.

_0520 GST: Vakarian: Shepard?_

_0520 GST: Shepard: I was just about to message you._

_0521 GST: Vakarian: Are you okay?_

_0521 GST: Shepard: Yes. Have you talked to Mordin already?_

_0522 GST: Vakarian: He just marched in here, woke me up and told me you were in “mild anaphylactic distress.” Then he gave me an anti-allergen injection and walked out._

_0523 GST: Shepard: I woke up with a rash. It’s not a huge deal. He’s coming up now; hopefully he can get rid of it quickly. Did you get a reaction?_

_0524 GST: Vakarian: No. I’m so sorry, Shepard. Do you need me to come up?_

_0524 GST: Shepard: No; if you saw what I look like right now I would never live it down._

_0526 GST: Shepard: I’m kidding, Vakarian. Don’t be sorry. I’m not._

It was then that her door chimed; Mordin bustled in as soon as Shepard hit the entry button, carrying a small case under his arm. “Should have administered injection sooner,” he said mildly as he looked Shepard up and down. “Nasty side effects from accidental cross-species ingestion.”

“Yeah, it’s not very becoming,” she agreed.

He ushered her into her desk chair and opened up his case. “Already treated Vakarian, though no symptoms were present. Can’t be too careful.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Mordin.”

“Not this time. Reaction was not life-threatening. Got lucky. Could have been much worse.” He swabbed her arm and she felt the prick of the needle, followed by the cooling sensation of medi-gel. “Should take effect within half an hour. Alert me if symptoms persist. Suggest drinking plenty of fluids. Nothing hot. With cybernetics, swelling should reduce quickly. Should be safe for near future; prevents future reaction, though ingestion should remain limited. Will re-administer, when the time comes.”

“Thanks. I trust you’ll be discreet about this?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality, Shepard. Will have to inform Dr. Chakwas, however.”

“Is that really necessary? Believe it or not, we _were_ trying for discretion here. Although, she probably already knows, somehow,” muttered Shepard.

“Medical files must always remain up-to-date. Also, must keep records of injections for future boosters…ah.” He inhaled sharply through his nose. “Relations unsuccessful? No need for future anti-allergen injections?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t say—that’s not—“ Shepard paused, willing the flush creeping up her neck to subside. “There, er—may be a need for boosters. Uh—probably.”

“Diagrams were helpful, then?” Shepard swore she could hear a smirk in his voice.

“Why the hell did you have all that stuff just lying around, anyway?”

“Geneticists well-rounded in research. Mating rituals highly relevant to work,” he stated as if it were obvious. “Also, events were predictable.”

“So I keep hearing,” said Shepard dryly. “Well, thanks, Mordin. I owe you one.”

“Pleasure’s all mine. Turian-human couples rare; will be fascinating to watch relationship develop.”

Shepard sighed wearily, accepting that dragging Mordin up here meant that she had to endure his poking fun at her. “No need for that. Go back to studying cellular reproduction,” she told him.

Mordin turned to leave, but halted at the door and turned back around. “Almost forgot—ointment for chafing.” He produced a small bottle and set it on her desk. “Will be in the lab if you require any other supplies.” And then he was gone.

Shepard shook herself before she could think too hard about what “other supplies” Mordin thought they might need, and instead brought her omni-tool interface back up to tap out another message to Garrus.

_0542 GST: Shepard: Mordin says I’ll be cleared up in half an hour. Be down then. Breakfast?_

_0544 GST: Vakarian: Meet you in the mess. I’ll make sure Jack doesn’t drink all the coffee._

_0545 GST: Shepard: I knew I kept you around for a reason._

_0545 GST: Vakarian: Sure you’re okay?_

_0546 GST: Shepard: Commander Shepard defeats rogue Spectre, returns from the dead, kills a thresher maw on foot, and ultimately dies by blow job? I think not._

When he didn’t reply, Shepard grinned to herself. Catching him off-balance was entertaining, especially given how self-assured a persona he gave off these days.

Hopefully, he’d realize that she was okay and that he didn’t have to feel guilty. Just in case, though, she made a mental note to make sure he knew she didn’t regret a thing.


	6. Closure

At first, Garrus had thought that the idea of a fully stocked lounge on a militaristic spacefaring frigate was ridiculous; now, it seemed like the only logical place to be when you had nothing to do but wait. Garrus, Tali, and Dr. Chakwas had each independently found their way to the port observation deck over the last hour. None of them were surprised to see the others there.

The ship was as battle-ready as she’d ever been. The squad moved like a well-oiled machine. The Spirit of the _Normandy_ had never been healthier, his father would have said. So there wasn’t much work to distract themselves with.

For most of the crew, this day wasn’t much different from any other. The three of them, however, knew that the _Normandy SR-2_ was orbiting the grave of its namesake, the grave of their long-lost, now-found commander: Alchera.

The doctor, the engineer, and the “first mate”—Shepard’s favorite title for Garrus—sat elbow to elbow at the bar, each with a glass of liquor in front of them, and waited for their leader to return from the planet’s icy surface. This was the site of their greatest defeat, and while neither Garrus nor Tali had been present for the destruction of the original _Normandy,_ they had each felt the blow personally the moment that they’d learned the news. Dr. Chakwas, for her part, hadn’t managed more than a sad smile at either of her crewmates since they’d walked in. She must have been feeling the worst, having been among the survivors of the attack.

Worse, though (at least for Garrus), was thinking of Shepard wandering the charred skeleton of her old ship, like a lost Spirit, alone with the wreckage of her old life and the crushing reminder that she had once been a part of that wreckage.

She’d been down there nearly three hours now. And no one had dared offer to accompany her; anyone who knew Shepard knew better.

Garrus tipped the rest of his drink into his mouth, shuddering deeply as the liquid burned down his throat. Tali, who was sitting in the middle, reached over and grabbed the dextro liquor, pouring a generous amount into his glass. He nodded his thanks, his throat still too tight to speak. They sat in silence for a long time, staring into their drinks.

“You think she’s okay?” Tali whispered finally, breaking the silence.

“I don’t think we’re expecting trouble here,” Garrus said. “She’s got her hardsuit and the shuttle and she can radio if she needs us.”

“No, I know that, but…Keelah. It must be awful down there. The _Normandy_ was Shepard’s first ship, and it’s just—just lying in pieces down there—“ Tali’s voice broke and she stopped to take a deep breath. “She may be human, but she loved her ship as much as any quarian captain I’ve ever met.”

“That reminds me, where’s Joker?” asked Garrus. “You’d think he’d—“

“ _I’m here,”_ came the helmsman’s voice over the intercom. _“Or close enough.”_

Of course. As long as they remained in this system, the pilot would rather tap-dance on ice than leave his post. Garrus knew that Joker’s ass was staying glued to that chair until they left this planet, and all of its ghosts, behind.

“Glad to have you with us, Joker,” Garrus said.

They sat quietly for a long time, occasionally sipping at their drinks. No one knew what to say, how to feel…it was just nice not to be worrying alone.

Unexpectedly, the door to the lounge hissed open. Three heads turned in unison as Miranda came striding through the door. She looked distracted; it took her a few moments to spot them, but she stopped in her tracks at the sight of them all gathered at the bar. For a long moment, the four of them just stared at each other; Garrus wondered if Miranda would actually have the nerve to reprimand them for drinking. Off-shift or on, this was no time to be worrying about protocol.

“I see I’m interrupting something,” Miranda said quietly, breaking the long, tense silence. Sharp as she was, Miranda obviously understood why they were all here. “I apologize.”

“Did you need something, Miranda?” asked Dr. Chakwas diplomatically.

“No, I…well.” Garrus had never seen the operative look flustered before. It was surprisingly comforting just to know that she _could_ be flustered. “Since clearly I’m not alone in doing so, I admit I came to find something to help, er, pass the time.”

Tali and Garrus looked at each other, and then at Chakwas. Tali crossed her arms, looking annoyed, but nodded ever so slightly. Chakwas and Garrus shrugged.

“Would you like to join us?” asked the doctor, clearly committed to playing liaison. “Better than drinking alone, surely.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” mumbled Miranda. “I was just…worrying.”

“No imposition at all,” said Chakwas. She stood from her stool and took a glass from the shelf behind the bar, but poured Miranda’s drink from the bottle at her side. “Here, I think you’ll enjoy this. No offense, Miranda, but Cerberus stocks swill. I imported this bottle all the way from Earth.”

“Thank you,” said Miranda stiffly, taking the only available seat to Garrus’s right.

“You’ll forgive us if we aren’t sure how to take this,” said Tali, barely holding back the venom in her voice. “Never thought Shepard meant more to you than an ‘investment.’”

“You thought wrong,” Miranda snapped. “I owe Shepard everything. I may be loyal to Cerberus, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be loyal to Shepard, too.”

“Spoken well,” Chakwas interjected. “It’s hard _not_ to be loyal to Shepard.”

 _“Yeah, you know, Miranda_ did _spent two years putting Shepard’s ass back together,”_ input Joker. Obviously he intended to be a part of their vigil even if he couldn’t bring himself to leave the ship on auto-pilot.

“No, the arse only took a few weeks,” Miranda deadpanned, surprising a chuckle out of the group.

“Since when have you had a sense of humor?” Garrus said.

“Never did have much patience for clowning around, but Shepard…tends to cultivate these things in a person. I’m sure I’ll get over it.”

“I hope not,” said the doctor, chinking her glass against Miranda’s.

There was a long silence, then Tali gave a small huff of laughter. Everyone looked over incredulously.

“Sorry,” said Tali hastily. “I was just…remember that time that Joker fell asleep at the helm?”

 _“Fuck, am I ever going to live that down?”_ asked Joker.

“I’ll never forget it. Craven thought you’d died up there. His face was priceless,” Tali said reminiscently.

For Miranda’s benefit, Garrus filled in the blanks. “He came bursting out of the elevator while Shepard was chatting up the crew in the cargo bay, yelling ‘Commander, Joker’s unresponsive in the cockpit! You’ve gotta get up there!’” Garrus himself had been working on the Mako at the time, having one of his increasingly frequent chats with his commander. “Shepard didn’t even flinch. She just rolled her eyes and said, ‘I ought to run his ass in for insubordination.’ See, we had this problem on the _SR-1_ with getting our esteemed pilot to _sleep_ every once in a while. Shepard had gone as far as to _order_ him to spend at least six hours per cycle away from the helm. But you know how well Joker listens.”

 _“Yeah, so eventually she ordered the good doctor to stop giving me stims. Still didn’t cure the stubbornness, though.”_  

Dr. Chakwas cracked a small smile. “I remember that day. Craven was always a little…nervous. He’d sent for me, as well. Shepard and I got up to the cockpit in short order….”

 _“And found my sorry ass slumped over in the pilot’s chair, snoring like a little baby….”_ Joker added, as though he’d heard this story a million times before.

“So I said, ‘Let’s get him down to the medbay so I can check his vitals,’” said Dr. Chakwas. “But Shepard had other plans. As Garrus said, she’d always had trouble making sure Jeff didn’t overwork his shifts.”

_“Yeah, hell of a way to get revenge, though…”_

“So she lifted him biotically out of the pilot’s chair,” Chakwas continued, “and, ever so carefully, floated him up to the ceiling, as high as she could get him without risking a skull fracture. Then she took a deep breath and yelled, ‘ _Up and at ‘em, Flight Lieutenant!’_ and started _shaking_ him—“ the doctor was overcome with laughter at this point, her shoulders shaking too much to continue.

 _“Most terrifying damned thing I’ve ever woken up to,”_ Joker added bitterly. _“Shepard’s ‘commander’ voice is enough to wake the dead even_ without _the shaking and the floating. I damned near pissed myself.”_

Everyone in the room was laughing now, even Miranda. “Cruel, maybe, but effective,” she snickered.

“So after a moment, Joker figured out what was happening and he starts shouting, ‘What the _hell,_ Shepard?’” said Chakwas.

_“And sweet, kind Shepard looks me dead in the eye and goes, ‘Craven said you were dead. I was just checking.’ So I said ‘Okay, Shepard, you’ve made your point, now put me down.’”_

“Of course,” Chakwas added, “she couldn’t make it quite so easy on him.”

_“Right, because I hadn’t been punished enough with the rude biotic awakening. So to top it all off, she floated my ass straight down the CIC—“_

“A sight I will _never_ forget,” said the doctor.

_“—and all the way down to the medbay.”_

“She had a burn on the back of her neck from her implant overheating,” said Chakwas. “I had to treat the both of them—Joker for exhaustion and Shepard for taking a joke much too far.”

There was a long, heavy silence at the tail end of this story, the laughter stopping as suddenly as it had erupted.

“You know,” Dr. Chakwas whispered after several excruciating moments, “Craven is one of the ones who didn’t make it. I saw him as we were evacuating…he’d nearly made it to the escape pod, but one of the rafters dislodged above him and—“

She couldn’t finish, so Garrus raised his glass. “To Craven,” he rumbled.

“To Craven,” they all replied obligingly. Even Miranda drank to the long-lost serviceman.

“Part of Shepard’s mission is to collect the dog tags of the crew who didn’t make it,” Chakwas pointed out. “That’s got to be the worst part. All those dead servicemen, and Shepard…she takes it all personally.”

 _“It’s not her fault,”_ Joker interjected a little too forcefully. _“I knew that ship’s defenses backward and forward. It never stood a chance against a surprise attack like that. Did you see the fucking_ size _of the Collector ship?”_

“That’s not the point,” Garrus piped up. “We were all Shepard’s. As far as she’s concerned, the well-being of her crew is her personal responsibility. That ship, and the people inside it…we were all she had.”

“And then when she came back, it was all gone,” Miranda said, almost too quietly to hear. “She didn’t just die down there, did she? She lost her life.”

For a long moment, everyone was quiet. “What I don’t understand,” Miranda began tentatively, addressing Garrus and Tali, “is _why_ this ship—or its predecessor—can hold so much sentimentality for the two of you. It’s a human ship, after all, and you were aboard for less than a year.”

Garrus looked over at Tali, whose head was tilted at an angle. She seemed to be deep in thought as she returned his gaze, eyes glowing steadily behind the frosted purple glass.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Garrus said finally, his voice quiet. He wondered if anyone was picking up on the sad thrum in his subharmonics. “We weren’t even aboard when the _Normandy_ was destroyed, but when I heard the news, it was like….”

“…like hearing that your home had been attacked and that half your family was—just dead,” said Tali, choking on the last word. “And then to hear that Shepard went down with it….”

A low keen escaped Garrus’s throat, but only Miranda was tactless enough to shoot him a curious glance.

“Yes,” said Tali, apparently in agreement with his involuntary reaction. “The _Normandy_ was my pilgrimage vessel. My first home away from the flotilla. Shepard, she was…the best captain I’ve ever served under. She made the _Normandy_ my home, even before it became a part of my name.”

“Everyone had a personal stake in stopping Saren. We couldn’t have done it without the _Normandy._ ” Garrus drained his glass again, remembering the sharp knife of loss that had lodged in his gut for nearly two years after he’d learned of the attack. “And we sure as _hell_ couldn’t have done it without Shepard.” Tali filled his glass again, unprompted; Garrus didn’t protest.

Tali pulled out the dextro bottle, refilled Garrus’s glass and topped off her own, and then she stood. “To the _Normandy,_ ” she said quietly. “The most magnificent ship ever to soar across the Milky Way. And to Shepard, the only captain worthy of outliving it.”

Everyone polished off whatever was in their glass, though Garrus refrained from refilling his glass. Truthfully, Garrus reflected, he’d probably had more than he ought already. His turian commanders back in the Hierarchy would have had his head for being anything less than combat-ready while aboard a warship.

Of course, the other three were more than happy to help themselves to more.

“All right, Lawson. Let me ask you something,” said Tali suddenly. Miranda’s face went instantly smooth, and Garrus wondered when he’d gotten so good at reading human faces.

“Fire away,” said Miranda coolly, her most professional mask firmly in place.

“Why are _you_ down here?”

“I’ve told you. I wanted a drink to pass the time.”

“Yes, but why?” Tali sat up straight and turned to face Miranda. “What makes waiting up here, for Shepard, more stressful than waiting for the ground team of any other mission?”

“Listen. I know that there are plenty of people on the ship who think I’m…well, do you think I haven’t heard? ‘Ice queen,’ ‘Cerberus cheerleader’…petty insults. I don’t let it bother me.” Miranda took the sort of deep breath that made Garrus sure she was lying about that part. “And I understand why you don’t trust Cerberus. But _I’m_ loyal to them because they helped me when no one else would. I don’t think I should be faulted for that.

“That being said, maybe you should ask Garrus about the time that Shepard spent on Illium, helping me to…solve a problem that no one else could possibly have been trusted with. Just don’t spread it around.” Miranda paused. “I took on the Lazarus project because I believe in what Shepard stands for. In fact, the whole thing was my idea. I believe she can get the job done, a job that I know needs doing. I spent two years of my life making sure she had that chance. And…” the operative stopped, staring into her glass. Then she drained half of it in one gulp before continuing, “…and she’s my friend. Like I said, I’m worried about her.”

Miranda looked up at all of them now, holding Tali’s gaze in particular. “Question the Illusive Man’s motives, if you must. I can’t make you believe in Cerberus and I don’t care to. But don’t question my loyalty to Shepard. Of all people, the three of you should know how she can…get under one’s skin.”

“That’s for sure,” muttered Tali. “Maybe I was wrong about you, Lawson. But if that’s the case, then you need to get the hell out of Cerberus before you do something you’ll regret.”

“And how do you know whether or not I’d regret anything that Cerberus wants from me?”

“Because you’re one of Shepard’s now,” said Tali simply.

“She _does_ have a way of making you rethink things,” said Garrus. “And honestly, can you condone everything your organization has done?”

“Careful how you answer that,” said Tali casually. Damn. Garrus hadn’t known the quarian had grown up so much as to actually sound threatening when she wanted to.

“I don’t _know_ every action that Cerberus has ever taken,” Miranda pointed out. “It’s a covert organization. No one from one cell can recognize operatives from another. Even I don’t have that kind of privileged information. I only know they gave me the resources I needed to make sure this galaxy has a fighting chance against the Reapers.”

“They want to live as much as any of us do,” said Garrus. “You can’t judge their moral compass on something like that.”

“And _we_ know lots of things about other Cerberus cells, seeing as we’re the ones who put a stop to their monstrous operations,” said Tali scathingly. “Did you know they created their own Thorian creatures, performed experiments on rachni soldiers, exposed children to element zero, and killed Shepard’s entire squad on Akuze?”

“How could Cerberus be responsible for the deaths of Shepard’s team?” asked Miranda. “They were killed by a thresher maw.”

There was a long, loaded silence in the observation deck as every pair of eyes rested heavily on Miranda. “You mean…you don’t know?” asked Tali, aghast.

Miranda crossed her arms. “Don’t know what?” she asked irritably.

“Miranda,” Garrus said quietly, “Cerberus set up that ambush.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why would Cerberus intentionally kill a squad of humans?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know,” Chakwas admitted, voice hushed. “They transported the thresher maws from Tuchanka, set up a nest and a false distress beacon, and waited. It was all intentional.”

“Even if that were true, how could you possibly know about all that?” Miranda asked crossly.

“We found another trap,” said Garrus. “It was a couple of years after the Commander lost her unit, but Rear Admiral Kahoku asked her to investigate a recon unit of his that went missing on Edolus, so she went to check it out.”

“We were there,” said Tali quietly.

“We were,” agreed Garrus. He knew that Tali was remembering the look on Shepard’s face when the maw had stormed up from the ground, dirt and acid suddenly flying everywhere, and Shepard had immediately gone pale as a ghost, sitting motionless and unmistakably terrified for twice as long as she ought before she started barking orders at the two of them.

“It wasn’t until the thresher maw was dead that we realized that Kahoku’s unit hadn’t deployed the distress beacon,” Tali continued. “They’d been _lured_ in, right on top of a thresher maw nest.”

“But how do you know it was Cerberus?” Miranda repeated.

“Kahoku did some digging after he read Shepard’s report. He found a congregation of Cerberus facilities in the Attican Traverse, and Shepard offered to follow the lead,” Garrus told her.

“Yes, but sometime between when he sent that message and when we got to the facility, Kahoku was captured by Cerberus forces, taken to their facility, and killed.” Tali shuddered. “He looked like…like a lab animal. Covered in track marks.”

“You just admitted you don’t know everything that Cerberus has done,” Garrus pointed out. “But now you know why Shepard can’t trust them.”

“No wonder she wouldn’t cooperate,” muttered Miranda. “No wonder she wouldn’t take my…guidance.” Suddenly, the operative shuddered. “I had no idea that Cerberus would do something like that. What was the _point_? ‘The advancement of humanity’ usually doesn’t include killing our own people.”

“Agreed,” said Chakwas.

“Look,” said Miranda, “I can’t just renounce Cerberus after everything they’ve done for me. At least…not without doing my own research first. But…Shepard’s not the only one I’ve come to trust since boarding the _Normandy._ ” Garrus reminded himself to thank Shepard for explaining ‘blushing’ to him, if only so that he could recognize it in Miranda now. There was something deeply satisfying about realizing that, under the frosty personality and frankly intimidating demeanor, was a person who was capable of feeling embarrassment.

“Tali,” Miranda continued quietly, “I’m sorry that Cerberus endangered the Migrant Fleet. I thought they were justified, but I think I owe it to you to…er…re-think the issue.”

“You’re a bigger woman than I thought, Miranda,” said Tali, raising her glass and swaying a little on her stool. Garrus realized at that moment just how much the quarian had had to drink. And Tali wasn’t exactly known for holding her liquor.

Miranda looked like she was trying not to roll her eyes. “Thank you. I think.”

 _“Uh, this is awfully cute and all,”_ Joker piped up over the intercom, making them all jump. _“And I really hate to interrupt, but EDI just told me the shuttle is en route back to the_ Normandy. _”_

The four teammates stared at each other, not sure what to do now that Shepard was coming back. Surely she wouldn’t want to be ambushed in the shuttle bay by half her squad.

Then Chakwas stood from her stool, amazingly steady on her feet, and clapped Garrus on the shoulder. “Go make sure she’s okay,” she said softly. “And then let us know.”

“I’m not sure she wants company right now,” said Garrus uneasily.

 _“As a matter of fact, Officer Vakarian, Shepard has just requested your presence,”_ EDI piped up.

~*~

The elevator slid to a halt on Deck 1, and Garrus hesitated only a second before hitting the Request Entry button. The light blinked green almost immediately, and he opened the door and stepped in. It took his eyes a second to find her; it wasn’t until he stepped further into the room that he realized she was curled up on the couch, legs folded to her chest at seemingly impossible angles, wearing her exercise clothes. She clutched a glass of wine, the bottle sitting nearly full on the table in front of her. “Hey, Garrus,” she greeted him. He couldn’t read her tone.

“Shepard,” he replied, closing the door and descending the stairs to the sleeping area. He sat down next to her, unsure what to say—but she saved him the trouble of speaking.

“I got all the dog tags,” she mumbled, breaking the silence. “I have to ship them all to the Alliance at the next dock. And I placed the memorial.”

 “You were down there a long time,” he said tentatively. “Can’t imagine it was easy finding twenty pairs of dog tags in…uh…all that snow.” _Dammit._

“There was a lot to dig through,” Shepard agreed grimly. “I also had to decide where to put the actual statue.” She managed a small smile. “I almost put it next to the Mako.”

Garrus’s mandibles flicked in amusement. “Ah, the Mako. Think Cerberus could bring it back to life, too?”

Shepard tensed slightly. Garrus could have kicked himself. “Shit. Shepard, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--“

“No, no, it’s all right. I can’t keep breaking down about it.”

Garrus didn’t know what to say. Truthfully, he couldn’t really imagine Shepard breaking down about anything.

Suddenly, she set down her wine glass and unfolded herself, looking up at him apologetically. “Honestly, when I asked EDI to send you up, I wasn’t thinking—I didn’t want to unload this on you—“

“This is starting to sound suspiciously like an apology, Shepard,” interrupted Garrus. “You pulled my ass out of the fire on Omega, and you were extremely stubborn about making sure I was all right, whether I wanted to talk about it or not. Regardless of—uh—recent developments—I think it’s safe to say that we’re far past keeping a professional work relationship.” Tentatively, his talons brushed her hand. “You’ve got a lot of people counting on you. And I’m here to tell you that you can always count on me.”

Shepard was silent for a long moment, staring at her hands. Finally, she looked up at him, the tiniest half-smile on her face. “Thank you, Garrus.” She leaned over and nudged his forehead with hers. “I really don’t think I could do this without you.”

Garrus huffed a laugh. “I don’t think anything could stop you from doing exactly what you want.” He wondered if she could tell that he was only half-joking. “You know there’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he added seriously.

As if in response, Shepard scooted over on the couch until their legs touched. She took his arm and draped it over her shoulders, resting her head on his shoulder. It took her an awkward moment to fit herself to him, but within seconds she was pressed snugly against his side, head pillowed against his chest, deftly avoiding his carapace.

“Never understood the cuddling thing,” he whispered, amazed at the contented sigh that escaped her once she’d settled. He could feel her body rise and fall as she took the breath and let it out slowly, felt all of the tension drain from her shoulders. Her breath tickled the softer skin of his neck, and he barely suppressed a shiver. _Time and place, Vakarian. Time and place._

“Poor body heat retention,” mused Shepard. “The physical support of another person. Plus, it’s just nice.”

“Can’t disagree,” conceded Garrus. What a strange and intimate sensation, touching someone just for the sake of it. Her skin was warm through the fabric of her shirt—poor body heat retention, indeed. He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “What else did you find on Alchera, besides the Mako?”

“A lot of eezo. A datapad of Pressley’s. And my—my old helmet. The one I was wearing during the attack.”

There was another beat of silence, then Garrus replied, “Damn.”

“Yeah. And I—I don’t remember it coming off. I don’t know what happened after I hit atmo, but it must’ve been pretty bad. Jacob said—when they brought me in—“ She shuddered suddenly. “’Meat and tubes.’ Those were his words. I was nothing but meat and tubes.”

“Spirits. Doesn’t mince words, does he?” The phrase conjured up some really disturbing mental images. This time it was Garrus’s turn to shudder. What the hell had Jacob been thinking?

Shepard shrugged half-heartedly. “Insensitive, maybe, but at least he was honest. Couldn’t get much detail out of Miranda; I’ve never met anyone who can deflect difficult questions like she can. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know how they found me. Or, for that matter, _who_ found me, or how long I was there before they picked me up. Guess the Illusive man had me pegged: point me at the nearest galactic threat and I forget to ask all of the important questions.”

Garrus contemplated her words. “You know, any turian would tell you that’s a good thing. Put the good of the many before your own needs.”

“Most humans would call it stupid or naïve.” She sighed. “Maybe it’s both.”

“Stupid _and_ naïve?”

She elbowed him, but he caught a glimpse of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “No. I mean it _is_ stupid and naïve, but…well, how can I _refuse_ to save the galaxy?” She lifted her head to meet his eyes; her expression was unfathomable. Human faces were exponentially more expressive than turian faces; the little nuances still escaped him more often than he liked.

“I don’t have an answer for you, Shepard. I’m sorry. But does it really matter, now?”

She sighed. “I know. Where we’re headed...who knows if we’ll even survive? And if the Collectors don’t kill us all, the Reapers will come and finish the job.”

Garrus was distinctly uncomfortable hearing Shepard talk like this. She’d never projected anything but complete faith that they would get the job done. To hear her sounding so hopeless jarred him. “That isn’t what I meant. I meant—well—we’re here, aren’t we? You’re here. What happened, uh…happened. You told me years ago. You can’t control how people will act, but you can control how you respond. You didn’t ask to be brought back, but you can control what you do with it.”

Shepard stared blankly at him for a few seconds. Finally, to Garrus’s bemusement, she actually laughed out loud. “Guess a thing or two did get through that plated skull of yours,” she teased, still grinning.

“You have a way of making me listen,” he told her.

Her mouth twitched. “Getting sentimental, Vakarian?”

“Of course not,” he replied dryly. “Turians are immune to sentimentality.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll bet you’re a closet romantic. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Wouldn’t want to ruin your image.”

“I think that would fit right in. Turian vigilante badass with a heart of gold and a proclivity for romance. Sounds like a bad vid.”

Shepard laughed again, and Garrus couldn’t help but grin back. She seemed much more relaxed now, curled up loosely under his arm. The banter was familiar; the subtle flirting was new. “Should’ve known that you’d take the vigilante route. When we found you on Omega, and you took off your helmet, I thought, ‘Of _course_ it’s Garrus.’ You were always going to go rogue someday.”

He shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he admitted. “Seemed like, with you gone and the Council backpedaling, that I’d missed all of my chances to do some real good for the galaxy. So I had to go and make my own chance.” He rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand. “The logic seemed sound enough at the time, anyway,” he added sheepishly.

“You _did_ do good work,” Shepard insisted. “Just because no one talked about it doesn’t mean that it didn’t matter. As for your judgment, well…it always looks different from the other side.”

“Nothing like screwing up royally to make you realize what an idiot you are, you mean.” He sighed. “You’re right. And I guess if Omega hadn’t gone sideways for me, I wouldn’t be here. It’s doesn’t make it right…but it’s something.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. You’ve always had my back, Garrus. I wish…I wish I could have been there to help you, when everything went sideways.”

“You were there when it counted. You saved my ass, remember?”

“You saved mine, too,” she told him.

He raised his brow plates at her. “Watching your six in combat isn’t exactly the same thing.”

But she shook her head. “No, not like that. You…reminded me. You woke me up. When we found you, and when you stepped back on the new _Normandy_ with almost no questions asked. I was in a bad place, Garrus. I had no connection at all to who I was before. And then—there you were, back on my ship, watching my six like always. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but you’ve always been there when I needed you.”

“You _do_ deserve it,” Garrus insisted. “And what kind of a person would I be if I turned my back on you? On the Reaper threat?”

Shepard didn’t respond. He knew she was thinking about her other former squadmates, and he sighed. “Look, I’m no good at this,” he admitted. “And I can’t speak for anyone else; they have their reasons. But you should know that I’ll _always_ be on your six. And if we live through the Relay, I’ll help you find out what happened to you on Alchera; I’ll help you prepare for the Reapers. I’m with you, Shepard. No matter what.”

“Hell, Garrus,” she mumbled, flushing bright red. “I thought you just said turians were immune to sentimentality.”

“Anything to make you blush,” he joked, grinning. “Besides, it isn’t sentiment. It’s fact.”

“Hey. Commander Shepard does _not_ blush.”

He reached out a talon and touched her burning cheek. “I beg to differ.”

“Fine,” she scoffed. “Just for you, then.”

“I’m honored,” he grinned. “Still having trouble believing you picked the turian to…make you blush. Bet Jacob would’ve _jumped_ at the opportunity.”

“ _Jacob?_ Please, Garrus. He’s a good soldier, nice enough, but—let’s just say he’s not my type.”

“And _I_ am?” He couldn’t keep the genuine disbelief out of his tone.

“Who doesn’t like big spiky monsters?” she asked innocently, startling a laugh out of him.

“Grade-A deflection, Shepard.”

“Ah, damn, you’re good. Well, Vakarian…” She looked him up and down in mock appraisal. “I’m not sure I know how to explain it. I just… _like_ you. Is that so hard to believe?”

It was, as a matter of fact, but he didn’t say anything.

When he didn’t reply, she rolled her eyes. “All right, look. Why would I have dragged you up here in the first place if I didn’t like you? And don’t you think I’d have gotten bored of fooling around like teenagers if I didn’t genuinely enjoy your company? As it happens, I’m having a _great_ time fooling around like teenagers. _And_ I like spending time with you.”

“That’s because you’re crazy,” he told her affectionately. “And, uh, that’s not a bad thing.”

She laughed. “That’s all you’ve got, huh?”

“What I meant to say is, I like you too. Crazy and all.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. This isn’t easy. Never done much talking about this kind of stuff.”

“Neither have I. But I’d never kissed a turian before you, either.” She found his hand and held it in both of hers. Garrus followed her gaze and watched her thumb stroking the back of his hand as she spoke. “We don’t have to talk about it,” she said finally. “I like you. You like me. We can make each other feel good, find a little sanity in all of this. Maybe it can really be that simple.”

“So…we get to keep what we had, only with more sex?”

Shepard grinned slowly and then bumped his forehead with hers. “Exactly.”

“Why haven’t we been doing this the _whole time_?” Garrus demanded.

Shepard laughed, and then fell silent, staring down into her wine glass.

“You okay?” murmured Garrus.

She took a long time to respond, draining her glass before finally lifting her eyes to his. “I’m still breathing,” she said. “That’ll have to be enough.”


	7. Ally

“I don’t like this place, Shepard,” muttered Grunt, his step uncharacteristically light and cautious. Shepard suppressed a swell of pride at how far he’d come since “the tank.”

“It’s the corpse of an ancient sentient machine, and it seems to have eaten an entire science team. What’s not to like?” drawled Garrus.

“Turians have a crappy sense of humor,” grumbled the krogan, rolling his eyes at Shepard.

“Be nice, you two, or the ship will get you next,” Shepard quipped. “It already locked us in here.”

“Since when is it appropriate to joke about being eaten by a Reaper?” asked Garrus.

“Since I decided it was.” Shepard cut the banter short with a sharp hand gesture, pulling up her omni-tool as they approached a surveillance terminal.

“Hell,” she whispered. “This thing was indoctrinating scientists. I thought it was supposed to be dead.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time the Illusive Man walked us into a trap,” Garrus pointed out as they moved on, weapons ready.

“True, but why would he sacrifice the scientists? Seems a bit far to go to lure us here.”

“Husks!” Grunt snarled suddenly, halting in his tracks.

“They’re under the walkway! Back it up, people!” Shepard shouted, knocking several of the husks back over the edge with a Shockwave.

“Why don’t you play with your new shotgun, Grunt?” she added, taking position on Grunt’s five. She turned her head, and Garrus was already in place on Grunt’s other side, standing atop a crate with his Mantis at the ready. “Just make sure to leave us a few targets; Garrus needs the practice.”

Garrus snorted. “I’m four headshots up on you today.”

“Not for long,” she sang. “I’ve got your three, Grunt.”

“I can take care of these worthless beasts,” he scoffed, swinging the butt of his shotgun with a _crack_ into the skull of the nearest husk. It stumbled backwards over the railing, taking one of its fellows with it in a whirl of gray and blue. “Shepard, can I blow up the crate?”

“You could, I suppose. _But,_ if you let Garrus do it, there’ll be a bigger explosion.”

“Ugh, fine. I’m clear, Garrus. Better make it good.”

“With pleasure.” Garrus’s omni-tool lit up and so, a moment later, did the explosive crate in front of them. Grunt slammed his fists together at the sight of the last husk hitting the ground and staying there.

“Nice work,” Shepard said, darting forward to look around the corner. “Let’s keep moving. I have better things to do than run around inside of a Reaper.”

“You know what this means, Shepard?” Garrus piped up. “The husks are Reaper technology, not geth. This is another piece of the puzzle linking the Collectors to the Reapers.”

“I’d thought of that,” Shepard agreed. “Maybe the Council will accept this as evidence.”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” muttered Grunt.

Three husks appeared around the corner, but before anyone could even react, they dropped to the ground one by one, dispatched by one clean headshot each. “Sniper!” snarled Garrus, raising his weapon instinctively.

“Someone else is shooting husks on this thing. What’s going on here?” Grunt asked.

“I don’t know. But I intend to find out. Garrus, help me hack these consoles.”

“You’re really gonna loot this place, Shepard?” asked Grunt.

“We loot _every place,_ Grunt. Thoroughly.”

“She’s uncompromising in this rule,” Garrus informed the krogan.

Once the room was “thoroughly” hacked and cleared of credits and data, the squad moved forward into a large open area, with yet more husks crawling up from under the walkways. This crew were more numerous than the last group they’d had to deal with, leaving Shepard to wonder just how many people had been on this science team. She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer, and she was pretty sure she was going to get it anyway.

As they carried on, Shepard frequently checking the map EDI had managed to make of the Reaper, she found that the answer was a _lot._ Some of them had even meshed into those God-awful Scions that seemed to be around every corner.

“You just don’t like having the tables turned on you,” mocked Garrus when Shepard cursed the _third and fourth_ Scions rounding the corner.

“You’re damn right, I don’t.” She was used to _throwing_ the shockwaves, not dodging them. “These motherfuckers are the bane of my existence. Grunt, get your ass back here and keep those husks off me.” She whipped her Viper over her shoulder and unloaded an entire clip into the many heads of one of the Scions, which finally disintegrated with a pitiful whine. The other followed in short order, falling to Garrus’s Mantis.

“ _Finally,_ ” panted Shepard. “Let’s move.”

Down a few more creepy hallways and through a set of double doors, Garrus’s plates were starting to itch. Grunt was scowling, and even Shepard looked tense at the shoulders as she flicked a hand gesture at each of them.

Suddenly, there was a hiss of a sniper shot uncomfortably close to his left shoulder. He looked behind him and a husk had dropped to the ground, its head blown off by the offending round. A second husk flew a few feet backward as he watched, and landed on the ground in a grotesque tangle of cybernetics and flesh.

And damned if a geth—a fucking _geth_ —didn’t straighten up from cover forward of their position, lower its weapon, and call out “ _Shepard-Commander”_ in a mechanical but perfectly translatable facsimile of what his visor informed him was English, Shepard’s original language. And then it turned and disappeared into the next room.

The three of them stood there for far too long, gawking, only stirring when another wave of husks crawled up from under the walkway. “Since it knows you,” Grunt muttered finally, turning his shotgun on the oncoming horde, “tell it I don’t need its help.”

“Since when do geth operate alone?” asked Garrus. This was ridiculous. “They get smarter the more of them there are.”

“I don’t know,” Shepard mused. “This mission is dicey as hell. If the geth are on our side, why is there a dragons’ teeth altar in the middle of the ship? Why are all the humans here husks? Why did the Illusive Man send _so many fucking scientists_ here?” she complained, throwing a shockwave into the horde of husks that were trying to corner her.

“And if the geth _aren’t_ on our side, why did one just save us? It could’ve taken us down just as easy,” Grunt chimed in.

“Fuck—I’m cornered—“

“I’m on it, Shepard.” Grunt came charging to Shepard’s side of the field, shotgun blazing, barrier glowing, and annihilated the husks in thirty seconds flat.

“Grunt,” panted Shepard, “Once the Reapers are stopped and all of this is over, I’m building a second krogan monument on the Citadel that looks exactly like you.”

“Heh. I look forward to it.”

“Over there!” called Garrus from his perch.

When she saw the Scion rounding the corner, Shepard crouched low and snarled, her barrier coming back to full strength, and for a second she looked unsettlingly like a turian. “I’ve got this.” And in a flash of biotic light, she was gone, slamming into the Scion and knocking it backward. Garrus and Grunt watched in awe as she danced around it, Charging it repeatedly and blasting it in the back with her shotgun in the interim.

Twenty seconds flat, and the thing had been blasted to dust.

“Does this mean I have to build a monument of Shepard on Tuchanka?” muttered Grunt.

“She’s just showing off,” scoffed Garrus, his heart racing.

“I can’t believe Wrex hasn’t built me a monument yet,” Shepard piped up over the radios. “You really should get on that, Grunt. And Garrus?”

“Yeah?”

“I _was_ showing off. Anyway, while you two dawdle back there…” she pulled a ration bar out of her hardsuit pocket, unwrapped it, and crammed it in her mouth whole, flopping down onto a crate. “That was satisfying,” she mumbled around a mouthful of dry rations. “But don’t let me do it again.”

 

~*~

 

Unfortunately, there were a lot more husks than they’d anticipated, and a huge interior of the Reaper to clear. Shepard’s shoulders were starting to slump with fatigue by the time they approached what Garrus’s radar informed him was the central chamber of the derelict “ship.”

“Finally. Point out the core and I’ll tear it up,” said Grunt, reloading his shotgun.

“It’s just through here. EDI said the IFF would be near the core,” Shepard told him. “But stay sharp. I don’t like this.”

Through the door and there it was, just sitting on some kind of shelf in this otherwise empty room. “That it?” asked Grunt.

“So the Cerberus team did recover it. But where are they now?” asked Garrus.

“I think we’ve been fighting them this whole time,” Shepard replied as she led them forward. “But where did—“

The door opened and Shepard’s jaw snapped shut as her question was answered. A transparent barrier still barred them from the room, but they could see inside. There was the core, as expected, and _here_ was the geth who’d inexplicably saved them, standing with its back to them at what looked like the main control panel. It turned from the console as they entered the room, and then noticed the swarm of husks that were creeping up behind it. It dispatched several husks cleanly as Shepard and her team watched, then serenely turned back to the console. Moments later, the core’s barrier dropped and the geth turned as though to run, but it ran flashlight-head-first into the fist of the nearest husk and dropped to the ground with a too-familiar metallic _clang_.

“I think we found it,” said Garrus.

“And the rest of the science team,” agreed Shepard, whipping out the appropriated Particle Beam from Horizon. “Let’s shoot down the core and get the hell out of here.”

Garrus realized, as husks started pouring onto the platform, that there was no chance of talking her out of taking that geth with them now.

 

~*~

 

“The crew is going to _love_ this,” muttered Garrus, watching as everyone filed into the comm room. To his left, Shepard smiled tiredly. It had been a long day, and they’d returned from the derelict Reaper less than two hours ago. This was the second ship-wide meeting Shepard had called since stepping back onto the ship. As soon as the door closed behind Jack, Shepard cleared her throat.

“Well, as you all know, we have a geth aboard the ship. We found it on the disabled Reaper; it spoke to me and saved us from husks. When it was disabled, we brought it aboard and I activated and spoke with it. Now I’d like to give you all the chance to meet it, and hear what it has to say.” Out of the corner of his eye, Garrus watched Tali standing in the corner, arms crossed and looking as agitated as he’d ever seen her as Shepard continued, “I hope you’ll give it a chance to cooperate with us. Having the geth on our side would be an immense help when the Reapers arrive.” Shepard’s gaze moved slowly around the room, making eye contact with everyone, before she said, “EDI, let it in.”

Jack and Jacob, who were closest to the door, hastily backed away. Jack looked like she was plotting other exit strategies, but the geth walked serenely through the door and made its way over to Shepard, who did not flinch away from it. Garrus marveled at the way the tension dropped a notch when Shepard expressed such evident calm. “Greetings,” said the geth, and Garrus thought he saw Tali jump. “We are Geth. Shepard-Commander and Normandy AI have granted us the title of ‘Legion.’”

Garrus listened numbly as Legion went on to explain how the geth which had served Saren were not “true geth,” but were somehow brainwashed by the Reapers into worshipping them as gods.

“True geth oppose the Old Machines,” it told them. “Cooperation furthers mutual goals. This unit is designed for successful interaction with organics. We wish to integrate with you.”

“Shepard, this is _insane._ ” Looking to his left, Garrus saw that Tali had moved forward, arms crossed and stance challenging. “You can’t let a _geth_ just have the run of the _Normandy._ ”

Shepard turned toward Tali and leaned back on one hip, mimicking the quarian’s stance. “Why not?” she asked mildly.

“Why not?” repeated the quarian in disbelief. “The risks are—“

“Actually extremely low. EDI, what did you say the odds were that the geth could overpower you and hack our systems?” asked Shepard, with the tone of someone who was tired of repeating herself.

EDI’s blue sphere appeared at the end of the comm room table. “By my estimations and based on the scanning that Legion itself allowed, there is a 3% chance that a single geth platform could successfully unravel my encryptions and change my programming. There is a .5% chance that it could do so without my detection. Legion has also shared some valuable data on the geth consensus that leads me to believe that it means no harm.”

“It could be lying,” Tali said, addressing Shepard instead of EDI.

“I do not believe so,” said the ship’s AI. “Deception is not integral to geth programming.”

“Thanks, EDI.” Shepard turned back to Tali. “You said yourself, years ago, that the geth under Saren’s control were not true geth. We’ve never met this geth or any of its…comrades. There is a limited risk here, but if we can successfully cooperate with _this_ geth, think what that could mean for the galaxy.”

Tali’s eyes glowed dangerously behind the frosted glass of her helmet. “Think of what they did to my people, Shepard. The geth drove us off of our own homeworld. They’re the reason you—none of you—“ she glared around the room, “—have ever seen a quarian face.” The room erupted into restless muttering.

“Tali, _I’m_ thinking of your people,” snapped the commander. Everyone went quiet when her voice switched into _that_ tone. “I’m thinking of _everyone’s_ people. I’m not asking you to be friends with it. I’m asking you to cooperate with it. And I think it’s about time you knew that you sound just like Ash. She didn’t trust aliens. She didn’t want me to let any of you have the run of the ship. Pressley didn’t even want you on board. Think about how wrong they were. Think about where we’d be if I hadn’t given you a chance.”

Unfolding her arms, Tali seemed to swell with rage—Garrus thought she was about to start shouting, but she turned sharply and stormed out of the room.

“We apologize,” said Legion, making everyone jump. “We anticipated hostility from the Creator. We also suspected that _Normandy_ had not reached consensus regarding our integration. Have we inhibited _Normandy_ cohesion?”

There was a long pause; none of the rest of the crew seemed interested in speaking up. Shepard sighed. “’The Creator’ has a name I think she’d prefer you use, but I’ll leave it up to her to introduce herself…when she’s ready. I think everyone needs some time to cool down. Dismissed.”

“We wish you to know that this platform is prepared to process queries,” Legion added as the crew exited the room in stunned silence. “Shepard-Commander, we will research organic social interactions and re-attempt integration at your command.” Then it, too, turned and exited the comm room.

Garrus, who had lagged behind, leaned back on the table, arms crossed. “Well, that could have gone worse.”

“One conversation with it and this geth has me convinced that letting it stay on the ship is not a danger to my crew or a risk to the mission. All they have to do is give it a chance. Be nice if they maybe had a little faith in my character judgment, too,” she muttered.

“Shepard, do you have any idea how insane you are?” he blurted.

 She looked at him, eyes challenging, and lifted her chin. “Fine, Garrus. I’m fucking batshit. But you know, I’d rather be insane than close-minded.”

Garrus nodded slowly, staring down into her rage-filled eyes. “Yeah, I know. And you’d be right. And I think the crew is going to figure that out.”

Incrementally, Shepard’s shoulders lowered. “You think so?”

“I do.”

“Why the _hell_ does this have to be so difficult?” Shepard snarled, lifting a hand to run it through her hair. She scowled when she found it still in its usual ponytail and began to pace the room instead. “We’ve only just gotten this team to function as a unit and here we have a shiny new squad member who’s too valuable to pass up, who _volunteered_ to help us on our mission and it’s a fucking geth. A _geth,_ Garrus.”

“I’m not going to lie--this is something that would only happen to you, Shepard. I would laugh if you didn’t look ready to warp the next person to annoy you into oblivion.” His eyes followed her back and forth across the room, his stance casual but alert. “Have you got a plan for dealing with Tali?”

Shepard stopped in her tracks, eyes hard and distant, and then she turned toward the AI interface. “EDI? Where’d Tali go?”

“Tali’Zorah is in the port observation lounge,” said EDI. “Ms. Goto is also in the lounge, although I do not believe Tali’Zorah is aware of her presence.”

“And Legion?”

“Legion has informed me that it will restrict itself to the AI core, ‘to avoid unnecessary conflict with organics,’ until it is needed.”

“Perfect. Set a course for The Sea of Storms.” She turned back to Garrus. “We’re going to a geth space station, and I’m taking Tali with me. No more fucking around. We get to know each other up close and personal, or we die.”

Without another word, Shepard turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

“Shepard’s behavioral patterns do not match those of other organic species,” observed EDI, whose interface was still blinking serenely in the center of the table.

“She’s setting a new standard,” Garrus said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the game gave us very little idea of how Shepard's crew initially reacted to Legion, I wanted to explore that in this chapter. I suppose it's not exactly integral to my story here, but it was fun to write and hopefully it was fun to read as well. I'm deep into working on the next chapter, which will feature gratuitous amounts of smut. :) As always, I welcome thoughts and criticism with open arms. The kudos and comments on this work are really humbling and I appreciate every single one.


	8. Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It. Is. Done.

“This is driving me  _ insane, _ ” Shepard said for what felt like the twelfth time, running her fingers through her hair. Here they were,  _ finally  _ ready to take this fight to the Collectors, finally feeling collectively prepared for what Shepard no longer considered a suicide mission—and now she had to  _ wait. _ Up to thirty-six hours, according to EDI.

Shepard  _ loathed  _ waiting.

“You’re making your hair fall off,” said Garrus, reaching over as she passed and gingerly plucking one of the loose hairs from her shirt. He held it up to peer curiously at it. “Should I be worried?”

“No, it happens all the time.” Shepard sighed and turned to make yet another lap around the main battery. She’d been pacing the room for nearly an hour now. Normally, if she had time to kill, she’d throw herself into mission reports or make her rounds, chatting with her squadmates so she didn’t have to be alone with her doubts. But there was really no more work to be done; any project she undertook now would just be redundant; each of her squad members was too wrapped up in their personal preparations (even Legion had told her it was too busy ‘processing new data’ to chat); and besides, she couldn’t have her squad witnessing her obvious nerves.

Except Garrus, of course.

Shepard let out a frustrated groan. “I  _ hate _ waiting,” she blurted. “I’m ready to end this. And I don’t exactly have any time-killing leisure activities lined up.”

“Don’t you?”

Shepard slowed her relentless pacing. “What do you—oh.” She stopped in her tracks and whirled around to face Garrus, who was standing there, his gaze resting firmly on her face—trying to read her reaction. His mandibles fluttered nervously as the moment stretched on.

_ Oh. _

“Seems like ‘the calm before the storm’ to me,” Garrus added helpfully, when she said nothing. “And—I’d be more than happy to help you pass the time.”

The suggestive tone in that velvety voice was enough to melt her on the spot. Shepard shook herself, willing the flush to subside from her cheeks. “Sorry, I guess I was kinda preoccupied. Took me a minute to switch gears.” She managed a smile. “You’d think, since this was my idea, that I wouldn’t be so caught off-guard. Then again, sometimes I still have trouble believing you even said yes.”

“Shepard,” Garrus said, huffing a laugh, “how in the galaxy could I have said no?”

Figuring she might as well get used to him making her blush, Shepard allowed a slow grin to spread over her face. “You’re on, Vakarian,” she said finally, pulling herself together and walking up to him. She reached out with a finger and ran it down his throat. “Why don’t you meet me in my cabin in twenty minutes?”

Garrus swallowed visibly and nodded. “I’m looking forward to it.”

~*~

The moment that she was alone in her cabin, a harsh twang of nerves prickled the commander’s spine. She was already regretting that she’d told him to wait before following—half the crew knew what was going on between them, and they’d had tactical discussions in her office more than once, anyway. Now she had to sit and feel her nerves mount with each passing second. She half-wondered if she should change her clothes, but there was no way in hell she was wearing that leather dress from Hock’s party whilst aboard the  _ Normandy _ , no matter what Kasumi said. Negligees and silk PJ’s weren’t exactly standard issue, and it wasn’t like she’d done much clothes shopping since she’d started this mission.

Shepard decided to at least take a shower, if nothing else because the hot water would help her relax. She sighed irritably as she stepped under the spray.  _ Get a grip, Shepard,  _ she told herself silently, but she knew it was no use lying to herself. She’d never exactly been one to feel apprehensive about sex, but Garrus was different. She cared about Garrus, and if they were going to spend some of their last hours of leisure time together, she wanted desperately to make that time count. She was also painfully aware that this may be her last real opportunity to tell him—or  _ show  _ him—how much his unwavering loyalty and easy companionship meant to her.

Then again, she considered as she lathered herself, she was loathe to believe, after the incredible team they’d built, all their preparation and upgrades, and with Garrus and Miranda as her lieutenants, that they would fail to come back alive through the Omega-4 Relay. And if they did…what would Garrus expect afterward? It wasn’t that Shepard really wanted him to think that they were just “blowing off steam.” It just went against everything she knew to let him see just how much she’d come to rely on him. There was no room for traditional romance in her life, so she’d mostly managed to dodge the issue since joining the Alliance. It wasn’t fair to ask anyone to share the burden that she bore out of necessity; she did not have the attention to spare for such matters anyway. And it certainly wasn’t fair to get too involved with anyone, especially not after she’d seen the icy look in Liara’s eyes after experiencing the grief of Shepard’s death.

And yet… (damn, nothing could ever be simple, could it?) Garrus wasn’t asking her for promises, or declarations of her devotion. This was a different kind of mission, and they both knew what was at stake. There was no way that this was going to end with the Collectors. They had an invasion to plan for; Garrus knew better than anyone that Commander Shepard had full intentions of being right up front when the Reapers came, and Garrus himself had made it quite clear that he intended just as fully on being at her six. He  _ must  _ have known that she had far too much on her plate to reasonably factor in a relationship.

Realizing she’d been standing just outside the spray, covered in soap, for several long minutes, Shepard took a deep breath and began rinsing herself. “This was  _ your  _ idea,” she muttered aloud. There’d been some logic to her proposition of him; something about taking the time they had while they could, but Shepard knew that deep down in her most primal self, she’d simply wanted to be intimate with him. Seeing him in a new light after her death and his time on Omega, Shepard’s newfound affection for her friend was apparently too strong to be kept dormant.

Suddenly, the Request Entry chime went off at her door, and Shepard jumped—had it been half an hour already?

Cursing, and now flooded with adrenaline, she realized with a second jolt that she’d forgotten something.

“EDI?”

_ “Yes, Shepard?” _

“If anyone asks, I went to bed early,” Shepard instructed, turning off the water and briskly drying herself off. “Say the same of Garrus, but  _ only _ if anyone asks. Oh, and lock the door to the main battery.”

_ “Understood. Shall I let Officer Vakarian in?” _

Was that a note of  _ mischief _ in the AI’s voice? “Yes, EDI. That’ll be all.”

_ “Logging you out, Shepard.” _

Grateful that she’d carried a fresh set of fatigues into the bathroom, Shepard dressed quickly and opened the bathroom door to see Garrus standing there, waiting for her in a set of civvies she’d never seen before. Her jaw nearly hit the floor as she took him in.

The outfit complemented his coloring beautifully, in a shade of blue that matched his colony markings and sporting dark green accents in a pattern that emphasized his sleek, angular form. The fabric itself looked silky and sophisticated, but stronger and more durable than any clothing she owned. The tunic hugged his form, drawing her eyes to the dip of his waist and the jut of his hip spurs. The neck of the tunic was low enough to reveal the graceful curve of his neck.

She nearly jumped him right there, and if he hadn’t had a bottle in his hand and a look of panic in his eye, she might have.

“Hey,” he said before she could gather herself, his subvocals thrumming with too many different tones for her to decode them at the moment. “I brought wine. Best I could afford on a vigilante’s salary.” He held up the bottle of dual-chirality wine he was clutching in his talons. The silence stretched for a moment too long before Garrus jerked, as though he’d almost forgotten something. Moving too quickly, he set the wine down on her desk and actually  _ ran _ over to her music console. From her speakers poured the sleaziest club mix in her selection, and Garrus bobbed his head to the beat, looking at her expectantly.

Well.  _ Someone  _ was a bundle of nerves. Somewhere deep down, Shepard was rather gratified to know she could get Garrus so flustered. She smiled and started toward him, if only to get him to stop running around the room.

“If you were a turian, I’d be complimenting your waist or your fringe,” he told her uncertainly. Shepard bit her tongue hard. She wanted to rescue him, but frankly, she was afraid that if she opened her mouth she would burst into laughter. And, if she was being honest with herself, this was  _ incredibly _ cute. “So…your, uh, hair looks—good,” he rambled on, “and your waist is…very supportive.” He paused as though waiting for a reaction, and Shepard did her best to smooth her features. “Hopefully that’s not offensive in human culture,” he continued nervously when she didn’t answer right away.

“Whoa,” she said. She was standing close now, and she resisted the urge to put a finger over his mouth. “Consider  _ me  _ seduced, smooth-talker.” There was still an uncontrollable hint of laughter in her voice, but it was better than letting him continue his monologue. “Now shut up and stop worrying.”

This didn’t get her the sheepish grin she’d hoped for, but some of the tension drained out of his shoulders when she reached over and skipped the awful club mix in favor of a soft piano tune. “I just—I’ve seen so many things go wrong, Shepard,” he said, shrugging helplessly. The frustration in his voice betrayed the casual gesture. “My work with C-Sec, what happened with Sidonis…I just want something to go  _ right.  _ Just once. Just—“

Finally, Shepard reached a hand up and pressed it to his scarred mandible, pulling him down to her so she could rest her forehead against his. It broke her heart to see him like this; despite her assurances that she wanted him here, he still managed to feel inadequate. He took a slow, deep breath, and Shepard waited, held him there until he’d relaxed a little.

“Garrus,” she whispered when he reached up to touch her arm, as though he couldn’t believe they were really here, “this has already gone right.”

He smiled, and the rest of the tension drained out of him. “Definitely can’t deny that,” he whispered, reaching up to stroke her arm. “Although I probably still have time to screw it up somehow.”

“Hmm, I doubt it.” She put her hands on his hips and completely closed the gap between them, smiling up at him. Damn. She always forgot how tall he was until they were close like this. “Unless you insist on turning that club music back on,” she added, tossing him a smirk.

Garrus huffed a laugh. “Believe me, I was as relieved as you when you changed it.” In a very human gesture, he wrapped his arms around her, and she giggled—not a sound she was used to making, but he grinned back at her and she couldn’t bring herself to feel self-conscious about it.

“Why don’t we crack open that bottle?” asked Shepard, pulling back. “You seem like you could stand to loosen up a little.”

“Oddly enough, you’re not the first person ever to tell me that.”

“I’m shocked.” The pair of them untangled themselves and Shepard led Garrus over to the couch. “Did you bring glasses?” she asked as they sat down, not quite as close as Shepard would have liked. The shower and Garrus’s grand entrance had calmed her nerves significantly, and she was starting to feel impatient for the feel of him under her fingers.

“Ah, damn it,” he said, looking nervous again. “I forgot humans like to use glasses.”

Shepard grinned and took the bottle from his hands. “You’re right; humans do like to use glasses. Fortunately, marines aren’t so picky. So, what, turians share the bottle then?”

“Depends. In, uh, this type of situation, we would. Otherwise…well, most food and drinks come in single servings. Humans are always portioning things out, but turians don’t really like to share.”

Shepard hummed thoughtfully as she cracked open the bottle of wine, helping herself to the first sip. Well, it wasn’t exactly a fine chardonnay, but she’d had worse. She managed not to make a face, anyway. “It’s actually a bonding method for humans. Sharing food and drinks. My parents used to share bottles of wine like this,” she added, passing Garrus the bottle.

“It’s sort of like that with turians. We don’t like to share, and so when we do, it’s…intimate. Sort of.” Garrus took a large gulp of wine and  _ did  _ make a face, adding, “Did I mention vigilante work doesn’t pay very well?”

“As your current employer, I don’t have a whole lot of room to complain,” Shepard pointed out, sliding a little closer on the pretext of reaching over to take back the wine.

He sat thoughtfully for a moment, watching her hands as she took the bottle from him and lifted it to her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention your family before,” he told her.

Shepard actually had to take a moment to remember when she’d even mentioned her family. That certainly wasn’t something she was in the habit of doing. “Died,” she said shortly, taking another deep draught of the wine before she handed it back over. “Batarian raid. Not much to talk about anymore.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I mean, I knew about Mindoir.”

“Of course you did. You always do your homework. Nerd.”

To her surprise, the mild insult seemed to translate. He shoved her shoulder playfully with his, and the unexpected contact made Shepard’s heart jump.

“You don’t blindly follow someone’s command without at least doing a basic extranet search on them,” he pointed out.

“No, I suppose not,” Shepard agreed.

“So…what were they like? Your family, I mean.”

Shepard took a deep breath. She’d barely so much as mentioned her family in years, and yet something compelled her to answer Garrus’s question. “My father was a farmer,” she said quietly, “and a chemist. He was refining the agricultural techniques on Mindoir. My mom was a writer and one of the smartest people I ever knew. My older sister was an engineer—only twenty, but almost as smart as our mom--and my younger brother...well, he was only eight. He wanted to be a marine, actually.”

Garrus flicked his mandibles, looking lost in thought. “Ironic that you wound up with the Alliance.”

“Hardly.” Shepard smiled wryly. “That’s  _ why  _ I joined the Alliance—well, among other reasons,” she amended. She tended to tell people that she joined because it was the best option for an unskilled colony orphan with nowhere to go but up, but truthfully, it was her baby brother’s unfulfilled wishes that compelled her to look into the possibility in the first place. “What about you? Any siblings?”

He hesitated for so long that Shepard almost retracted the question, but then he said, “I have a sister. Younger. Actually, she’s an engineer, too.” His mandibles fluttered with some undefined emotion—turian faces were so impassive that it was hard to tell. “Combat engineer, specifically. Only person I’ve ever met who might give Kasumi’s tactical cloak a run for its money.”

Shepard pursed her lips against the prying question that was trying to escape, but she lost the battle after a long internal struggle. “Does she know where you are? Your sister?”

Seeming to remember he was still clutching the wine, Garrus lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a grateful swig before handing the bottle back to Shepard. He moved a little closer. “No,” he replied. “No one knows where I am.”

Hesitantly, Shepard reached over and placed her free hand on Garrus’s knee. “You can tell them the story when we’re done,” she told him, squeezing his leg gently.

“Spirits help me, I almost believe you,” said Garrus, huffing a laugh.

Shepard sat up and raised the bottle ceremoniously. “Here’s to living to tell the tale,” she said, taking a long draught of the wine and then passing it back to Garrus, who raised it in response before he took a swig.

“You’d like her,” he said as he handed it back—they were nearing the end of the bottle already. “My sister.” He looked down at her hand, still resting on his leg, and then tentatively covered it with his own. He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed gently, mandibles fluttering again.

Shepard smiled, sipping from the bottle. There really was something intimate about sharing a drink with Garrus, here in her cabin, the light of the fish tank glinting off one side of his metallic plating as they talked about their families. “You’ll have to introduce me to her,” she said finally, remembering that she was expected to respond. “If she’s anything like you, I probably  _ will  _ like her. What’s her name?”

“Solana.” His mandibles flicked, almost a smile. “If we live through this, I’ll introduce you to her.”

Grinning, Shepard raised the mostly-empty bottle of wine. “Deal.”

Garrus gave her a real smile this time and then reached out to take the wine from her. His fingers were so long that they overlapped around the bottle. “This is, um, really nice,” he said shyly, moving his hand up to her shoulder and letting his thumb stroke her collarbone. “I like getting to be close to you like this.”

Shepard felt an inappropriately large grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she said, and leaned forward to nudge her forehead against his.

A little purr rumbled from Garrus’s throat, and Shepard’s grin widened, try as she might to suppress it. For a big, scary predator at the top of his food chain, he was awfully  _ cute. _

“Let me ask you something, Garrus.” A thought had just occurred to her, and she had to make sure…arranging her face into a more serious expression, she took both of his hands in hers, stroking his knuckles thoughtfully, angling her body towards him to better look him in the eye.

As usual, he caught on to her signals; he actually turned to mirror her, his back straightening subtly. “Shoot,” he said.

“If this really is our last night alive…hell, I honestly can’t believe you chose to spend it with me.” She may have let her gaze falter at that point, eyes flicking down to glance at their joined hands. “Or that you’re following me on this mission. I just…want to make sure you won’t have any regrets.” Biting her lip, she stopped there, unsure if she was even making any sense.

Garrus’s mandibles flicked in what she had come to recognize as a teasing way. “That wasn’t a question, but I think I know what you mean,” he said softly. His voice rumbled with some depth of emotion that was far too nuanced for her human ears to understand; he sighed, and squeezed her hands lightly. “You want the honest truth?” She nodded, and he looked her right in the eye and said, “If I were to write the ideal end to my life, I could not come up with anything  _ half _ as good as this. A suicide mission for a worthy, galactic-scale cause, following a great leader…giving my life for something bigger.  _ And _ , on the eve of battle, I get to share a bed with a woman who’s sexy, smart, and terrifying all at the same time? The one who’s leading us through uncharted space? It’s almost worth the suicide mission.”

Shepard laughed, a warm gush of relief flooding her system. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Garrus,” she told him without fully thinking the words through. “But I’m sure as hell glad you’re here.”

Garrus’s eyes softened; he tugged his fingers gently from her grip and reached up to cradle her face between his hands. “Trust me,” he whispered, his subharmonics almost overtaking his primary vocals, “I should be the one saying that to you.” He proceeded to lean forward and catch her lips between his mouth plates in an impressive facsimile of a particularly tender human kiss, his thumbs stroking lightly over her cheekbones. By the time he pulled away, after several long, blissful moments, Shepard’s head was spinning, her system pounding with adrenaline.

“What about you?” breathed Garrus, as though there’d been no interruption. “Is this really how you want to spend what might be our last night alive?”

Shepard chuckled breathlessly. “This was my idea, remember? Garrus, I couldn’t  _ wait  _ to get you back in my cabin. This is exactly where I want to be. For tonight, I’m all yours.”

And she could have sworn that his eyes flashed in tandem with the flick of his mandibles as he reached for her, pulling her into his lap; she took his lead, straddling his hips and pressing herself close until she was flush against him, making him grunt in an approving sort of way. His hands found the back of her fatigues, tugging at the shirt until it came untucked from her pants, then slipped his hand up her back, talons skimming lightly along her spine. A little hum of pleasure escaped her throat, her fingers linking behind his carapace.

“Your skin is so smooth,” Garrus murmured, nuzzling her neck. His hands found the hem of her shirt again, knuckles skimming her sides as he carefully lifted her shirt over her head. She watched his eyes focus immediately on her breasts as they came into view right at his eye level.

Looking nothing if not fascinated, Garrus tossed her shirt aside and ran his talons up her sides before cupping a hand around each breast and squeezing lightly. “I’m really starting to see the appeal in these,” he murmured as she gave a little gasp.

She took advantage of his momentary distraction to inspect the buckle at his shoulder; she’d never attempted to remove his clothes before. He caught her, chuckling, and reached up to help her, but she brushed his hands away.

“This is a personal conquest,” she explained, surprised at how breathless her voice sounded. “I won’t die without having mastered the removal of turian clothing.”

His mandibles flicked against her neck. “Can’t argue with that,” he conceded, hands resuming their exploration of her newly exposed skin.

The buckles weren’t that different from the ones on her old Alliance blues, and she wondered idly if that was a coincidence or not. The thought was cut short as Garrus brushed his thumbs over her nipples, making her gasp sharply again just as she got the first buckle undone. The rest of the buckles were easier now that she’d gotten the hang of it; three of them spaced evenly from his ribcage to his hip. She brushed her fingers against the warm hide of his waist as she dragged the fabric away, sliding the tunic down his arms. The gloves, which were apparently attached to his sleeves, came with it.

Fuck, but he was  _ fascinating.  _ Most of his chest was covered by silvery plating, the same color as his facial plates. She ran her fingers lightly over the seams between the plates, noticing again how warm his hide was underneath. She curved her fingers as her hands traveled down, scratching along his seams, until they gave way to the smoother hide of his waist.

Garrus squirmed gently under her, letting out a groan as she explored the sharp curves at his sides and the flat plane of his belly, his hands gripping her hips. She felt his thumbs kneading lightly against her hipbones, and then following the line of her waistband to the button of her fatigues. Shepard’s hands found their way around the back of his neck, massaging the hot skin she found there, sharply aware that his clever fingers were quickly unbuttoning her pants. Their eyes met, and Shepard was suddenly also very aware of how hard they were both breathing.

The moment stilled as they stared at each other, Garrus slowly tucking his hand between her underwear and bare skin, both holding their breath as though he’d never touched her before. After a long moment, his index finger brushed lightly against her clit, making her gasp. He ran the length of his finger down her clit, letting out a slow breath through his teeth.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, a slight undertone of disbelief still detectable in his voice even under a thick layer of lust. They kept eye contact as the pad of his finger made a slow circle around her nub, and she let out a moan that was almost a whine. Again, he slid the length of his finger against her clit, his hand burrowing more deeply between her legs, teasing at her entrance; it wasn’t until she rocked her hips against his hand and that he appeased her, his finger sliding into her. A low growl rumbling in his throat, Garrus moved the digit in slow, torturous circles, his palm pressing deliberately against her clit—“ _ Garrus, _ ” she gasped, rocking her hips again; he was still watching her with those piercing blue eyes, and he flashed her a cocky smirk as he watched her come apart under his touch. His finger started to move a little faster. At this rate, she was going to come before they’d even removed all of their clothes. Already, he was pressing just the right spot inside her, shooting steady pulses of pleasure up her spine….

And then he withdrew his finger, to her mixed regret and relief. Shepard took a shaky breath, trying to regain her senses; Garrus was still wearing that smirk, his finger wet with her fluids, and she laughed breathlessly. “Pleased with yourself?” she asked him.

“Extremely,” he replied promptly.

Rolling her eyes, Shepard couldn’t suppress a fond smile. She bumped her forehead against his and said, “Well, now that you’ve gotten me all worked up…how about you let me conquer the rest of your clothes?”

She stood up, holding a hand out to him. He chuckled. “Gladly,” he said, and took her hand, letting her haul him to his feet. “They’re getting a little tight.”

Shepard smirked, running her fingers down the sides of his waist, making him shiver visibly. Then she knelt in front of him, finding along the side of his leg a similar buckle system to the one on his tunic. His calf spurs nearly threw her for a loop, until she found the fastenings on the back of his legs—all in all, it wasn’t long before she was sliding the garment to the floor, surprised to find that his boots were attached to his leggings.

_ Turians are nothing if not efficient _ , Shepard mused as he stepped free of his clothes. She was quickly distracted by the sight of his groin plates, right at her eye level, parted slightly and glistening with the natural lubricant that turian males produced. She supposed that protective plating negated the need for underwear.

She glanced up at Garrus, who was looking amused, so she tossed him a smirk; holding his gaze, she pressed a kiss to his plate-less inner thigh. The hide here was remarkably warm, and softer than she expected, so she ran her tongue lightly up toward his groin plates and finished with a little nip. Garrus hummed deep in his throat, watching her intently; she smirked again as she turned to his other leg, this time leaving a trail of kisses before running her tongue up the length of his seam, making him gasp and shudder as his cock finally slid out of its sheath—and right into her mouth.

“ _ Spirits, _ ” groaned Garrus, who had fallen slightly off-balance in surprise. “Wait—Shepard—“

She immediately backed off, sliding her mouth off of him and looking up with concern. “Sorry, did I—“

“No, no,” he panted, “Spirits, I’m not complaining, but aren’t you—um—allergic to me?”

“Oh,” she laughed, “well…technically, I guess, but Mordin said the injection he gave me would prevent future reactions. Didn’t you get one too?”

“Yeah…but I must’ve missed the speech.  _ You  _ try keeping up with that fast-talking bastard when he wakes you at an ungodly hour to stab you in the neck with a needle.”

“Well, humans get allergen injections all the time and they seem pretty effective, although I should probably be  _ somewhat  _ careful. But you can leave that to me.” She grinned. “It was sweet of you to make sure, though. Did you…want me to continue, now that we’ve cleared that up?”

Garrus nodded vigorously, his talons threading tentatively through her hair. Shepard laughed as she pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock, then flicked her tongue against the head before sliding her lips slowly down his length until she could take no more; she held him there for a few long moments, massaging his base with her tongue. “Oh,  _ fuck, _ ” he breathed, looking completely entranced as she pulled her mouth off of him, only to run the flat of her tongue from base to tip. “Spirits, you look so sexy down there,” he murmured, his grip on her hair tightening.  _ So it’s not just human men who love to watch themselves get sucked off,  _ she thought, amused and more than a little gratified. She slid her lips back down, wrapping her hand around the base, and finally began to work him steadily, listening to that dual-toned voice sigh its approval; when he moaned her name, she had to clench her thighs against the throb of desire that shot through her core. She automatically increased her pace, stroking his base firmly with her hand and taking him deep into her mouth, the musky taste of him filling all of her senses.

Garrus’s breathing was ragged, and his thighs were starting to shake under his weight—for a moment, Shepard was tempted to finish him right there, wanted to hear him moan her name again, but she wasn’t sure if her system would endure that level of—ingestion—with or without an antihistamine. She gave him one last long, slow lick before reluctantly retreating. Garrus gave a shaky little sigh as she stood, winding her arms around his waist. “Sorry,” she murmured, “just don’t want to risk having to call Mordin up here again.”

“This would probably be a bad time for you to go into anaphylactic shock,” Garrus agreed dryly, kissing her. “I’ve got no problem moving on to less deadly activities…but you’re still wearing clothes,” he purred, voice gravelly with lust. His hands trailed lower, thumbs hooking the waistband of her underwear along with her unbuttoned fatigues.

“Can’t have that,” she replied, pressing a kiss to his throat. “Take care of those for me, big guy?”

He gave a low, rumbling growl in lieu of an answer, the dulled points of his talons scraping her skin as he dragged her remaining clothes to the floor. She managed to kick her boots off without unlacing them, and stepped out of the clothing pile with minimal difficulty. Shepard looked up, realizing that Garrus was now moving slowly towards her. “Shepard?”

“Yeah?”

He placed his hands on her hips and tugged her toward him. “You’re beautiful,” he told her. Then he bent his knees, grabbed the backs of her thighs, and suddenly she was being lifted up onto his hip spurs; she wrapped her arms instinctively around his carapace and locked her ankles behind his back. He flicked his mandibles in a self-satisfied smirk and then turned and strode smoothly over to the bed, as if she weighed nothing—and, being half-metal these days, that was far from true. Nonetheless, he tossed her lightly on the bed, her head hitting the pillows precisely.

“Nice moves, Vakarian,” she said breathlessly, grinning as she watched him crawl up onto the bed and settle himself between her legs.

“Been saving ‘em just for you, Shepard,” he quipped. She loved the way her name sounded in his voice, especially when the gravelly tones of his subvocals made it sound like a breathy growl. His gaze traveled over her body, heavy with lust. “Damn,” he added under his breath as he ran his fingers lightly over her collarbones.

“What?” she asked.

His eyes snapped up to hers. “I wanna touch every inch of you,” he purred, running his hands from her shoulders to her hips. “I was just trying to decide where to start.”

Damned if hearing those words in that voice didn’t send a flood of endorphins through her system, even as he finally made a decision and cupped a hand around each breast. She let out a low moan as those skilled hands worked her soft flesh, thumbs circling her nipples. His touch was rough and eager, his long fingers kneading at her skin as he lowered his mouth to her collarbone and nipped lightly, dragging his tongue along the artery in her neck. Shepard could only cling to him, panting and melting under his touch as he followed the same pattern all the way down her body, his mouth pulling little sighs and gasps from her as he made his way from her nipples to her belly button and finally to the creases of her thighs.

One three-fingered hand made its way between her legs just as his mouth discovered her hipbones; Shepard held her breath as the blunted tip of his talon teased at her entrance, then slowly eased its way deep inside her. He worked his finger gently at first, his mandibles fluttering against her skin as he nuzzled at the crease of her thigh. “Don’t forget to breathe,” he murmured, and flicked his tongue teasingly at her outer labia. She let out her breath in a long moan as he drew slow circles around her clit with his tongue, curling his finger inside her.

Oh, but that  _ tongue. _ Now that he’d gained a little confidence—and a little liquid courage never hurt—he was threatening to ruin her for human cunnilingus. While his mouth did seem to be a little drier than a human’s, his tongue was long and dexterous and was currently pulling all sorts of incredible feelings out of her deepest core, rough and eager and incredibly satisfying against her clit. All the while, his finger worked her steadily, stroking a steady pattern in just the right spot inside of her.

All words were lost to Shepard; she wrapped her fingers around the back of Garrus’s neck and held him to her, hips tense with the effort of holding them still. “Oh—fuck— _ Garrus—“ _

He hummed deep in the back of his throat, as if in reply, that velvety dual-toned voice egging her on, and there was a familiar coil of heat building rapidly between her legs. She looked down and Garrus was staring up at her, eyes bright—even the music in the background came to a crescendo, as if it were following the rhythm of his tongue against her. “Fuck, I’m close,” she whimpered, digging her fingernails into the hide under his fringe. He emitted a low growl that reverberated all the way up to her chest, and the pleasure peaked simultaneously; Garrus moaned as Shepard’s nails scraped the back of his neck—she cried out his name as wave after wave of heat crashed through her body, in time with the coordinated strokes of his hand and tongue until, gradually, he’d coaxed the last little quiver of aftershock from her hips.

Eyes closed, Shepard let out a long sigh as she felt Garrus crawl up her body and rest his forehead against hers. She finally opened her eyes to find him staring fondly at her, and she gave him a dreamy smile. “Damn, Vakarian. I always knew you were a quick learner, but that was… _ damn. _ ”

Mandibles flicking smugly, Garrus leaned down to kiss her. “Add that to my long list of talents, then,” he drawled. “And that puts me one up on you.”

Shepard laughed. “Are we competing in orgasms now? Isn’t that a bit of a lopsided competition?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” said Shepard, starting to sense that a biological discussion was at hand. “Well, when a human male, uh, ‘gets off’…he usually stays—off. If you catch my drift. So, you know, multiple orgasms don’t usually happen.”

“Like turian females,” agreed Garrus. “Their plates close and just refuse to open back up.”

“Something like that,” said Shepard.

“Well, it looks like we’re  _ both _ in luck,” he told her, his voice going low and husky as he pressed his body closer to hers. “I could go all night, if you wanted.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” murmured Shepard, wrapping her arms around his carapace and kissing him. “Especially since I apparently have some catching up to do.” Bracing one knee against his hip spur and one on his shoulder, and hooking the other ankle around his calf spur for leverage, Shepard flipped them over, managing to land him on the mountain of pillows she never used.

Garrus huffed a laugh as he shifted to accommodate his fringe on the pillows. “Shepard, when have I ever made a promise I can’t keep?”

Grinning, Shepard ran her hands down his chest, and then lower, where his cock was still unsheathed, standing starkly blue against his earthy plating. “That’s the spirit,” she murmured, running her fingers over the skin between his parted plates. Garrus hissed, a deep tremor shaking his body.

“Whoa,” whispered Shepard, fascinated. “Does that feel good, or…?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” he gasped, his hips tense as she rubbed her fingers along the inner edges of his plates. Shepard grinned; she massaged at the skin around the base of his cock with one hand, letting her fingers thoroughly explore the slickness between his legs, deliberately pressing at the base of his cock whenever she got close enough.

After a long few seconds, Shepard finally ceased her ministrations and leaned in to press her body to Garrus’s. His mouth found hers, his tongue flicking at her lips. She could feel his breath, fast and shallow, as their tongues tangled and their hands roamed; she shifted her hips and suddenly his cock brushed against her, making them both sigh. The kiss broke and their eyes met; Shepard felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Ready?” she asked him, her voice coming out in a sultry purr.

Garrus flicked his mandibles back at her and reached down to position himself at her entrance. “ _ Fuck, _ yes,” he gasped as his tip nudged against her. Shepard lowered herself onto him, slowly, savoring the way he stretched her—somehow she’d underestimated how big he was compared to what he was used to—but she took him in, inch by inch, and when he was buried to the hilt, Garrus let out a musical, dual-toned sigh that sent a shiver down her spine.

“ _ God, _ Garrus,” moaned Shepard as he flexed his hips against her, pushing in even deeper. She rocked her hips experimentally, and the friction made her clench desperately around him.

Garrus’s hands found her, his thumbs digging eagerly into her hipbones, egging her on as she repeated the motion. “Mm, you feel so good…so soft and tight….” he purred, his subvocals thrumming with pleasure. She opened her eyes—she didn’t even remember closing them—to find Garrus fixing her with that sharp gaze, and she found herself unable to look away. For a few long minutes, they moved together carefully, establishing a slow and heavy rhythm, their bodies pressed as close as they could get. Shepard let her hands wander, her nails grazing the skin of his neck lightly, then harder; her fingers danced around the edge of his carapace and then to his broad shoulders, tracing the seams of his chest plates until she had the paths memorized—the rumble in his chest grew louder, his primary vocals chirping little sounds of pleasure at the graze of her fingernails between his plates.

“ _ Shepard… _ ” he moaned, almost pleading as he tightened his grip on her hips, leaning in to nip at her neck, those sharp teeth sending a rush of adrenaline through her system, making her pick up the pace in response. Garrus’s eyes slid shut as he arched his hips against her; Shepard braced one hand on his chest and one on his shoulder, relishing in the way he moaned her name. “I’m—getting close,” he panted, his fingers kneading at her hipbones.

Shepard leaned down and kissed the side of his neck. “I wanna make you come, Garrus,” she murmured, then bit down—hard—on the leathery skin. His cock throbbed inside her as he cried out breathlessly, his hips spasming, and he let out a string of turian curse words that even her state-of-the-art translator couldn’t catch—only her name, every other word or so, came through in English.

Slowly, reluctantly, Garrus loosened his hold on Shepard’s hips, letting out a long, contented sigh as he finally opened his eyes.

“That was…” he gave a deep, rumbling sigh as though to finish the sentence.

“Yeah,” breathed Shepard, leaning in to kiss him. “Totally worth the wait.”

“Mmm,” he sighed in agreement, closing his mouth plates playfully over her lower lip—half kiss, half nip. He pulled back enough to smile at her; a flush crept up Shepard’s neck as she noted the way the light glinted off his plating, the sharp icy blue of his eyes, the sweeping curve of his forehead into his fringe….

“Garrus?”

“Shepard?”

“You’re…beautiful.” The heat in her cheeks intensified.

Garrus chuckled, and it was easily one of the happiest sounds she’d ever heard him make. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “Thank you,” he murmured, still sounding somewhat amused. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a xenophile, but I guess here we are. Or is it really the scars?”

“So far, I only have a fetish for _one_ battle-scarred turian,” she pointed out, grinning sheepishly. “Besides, doesn’t that make you a xenophile, too?”

Garrus huffed a laugh. “I think I like you because you’re Shepard, not just because you’re human. Although that part is…fun.” He turned his head as if to nuzzle her shoulder, but stopped dead mid-motion, staring out into the room. Shepard followed his gaze, but the room seemed unchanged.

“Something wrong?” asked Shepard, looking back at Garrus, who was now scanning the right-hand wall—the fish tank wall—with narrowed eyes.

“No,” he said, finally looking back at her. His eyes narrowed, his mandibles spreading into a mischievous grin that made Shepard’s heart jump with excitement. “I have an idea.”

Wrapping one arm around Shepard’s waist, he swung his legs off of the bed and rose to his feet in one fluid motion, leaving her clinging breathlessly to his carapace, legs locked around his waist.

Shepard grinned, exhilarated--something primal in her loved how strong and agile he was, holding her as though she weighed nothing. Garrus strode decidedly across the room, approaching the fish tank-- _ ah _ .

She laughed breathlessly as he pressed her back to the wall, her legs resting in the curve of his waist. “Am I about to find out how useful hip spurs are?”

Garrus grinned back at her, pushing his hips forward. His cock pressed against her, sliding against her clit and making her gasp. “And fulfill a fantasy of mine, to boot,” he replied, repeating the motion.

“You've...always wanted to have sex in an aquarium?”

He chuckled, suddenly looking a little self-conscious. “Ah--not quite. Been thinking about having sex with  _ you,  _ against  _ this  _ aquarium.”

A wave of heat settled across Shepard’s cheeks, a grin spreading over her face. Garrus stared in bewilderment as she let go of him to bring up her omni-tool. “Just helping to set the mood,” she told him as she set the room to night mode, leaving only the illuminated fish tank to bathe them in a pale blue light.

Garrus huffed a laugh. The light of the tank reflected off of his plates, making them shimmer. His eyes, nearly luminous to begin with, positively sparkled in the light as he looked at her, mandibles flicking in amusement. “Nice,” he drawled, nuzzling her shoulder.

Shepard ran her fingernails down the back of his neck. “So…how does the real thing compare to these fantasies of yours?”

“You tell me,” he murmured, subvocals resonating mischief as shifted his hips, burying himself inside her with one smooth motion.

“ _ Mmm _ ,” she sighed, tightening her legs around his waist. “Even your imagination couldn't possibly do this justice,” she told him breathlessly.

He pulled back, only the tip of his cock still inside her, and then shoved in deep, throwing his head back in bliss. “Agreed,” he sighed, nuzzling her neck. He repeated the motion once, twice--again--

“Oh,  _ fuck _ , Garrus--”

Garrus shifted his hands, grabbing her ass and pulling her hips closer. Again, he shoved into her, deeper than before.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Shepard panted, her composure unraveling as she clung to him, staring at those ice-blue eyes shimmering in the bluish light. “Oh, God-- _ Garrus-- _ ”

“Mmm, you’re so tight,” Garrus purred into her ear as she clamped down hard on his cock. He lowered his mouth to her neck, hoisting her a little higher so he could reach, nipping at her throat with those sharp predator’s teeth…his breathing was heavy against her skin as he ran his tongue along her collarbone to her shoulder.

“Fuck, please don’t stop,” gasped Shepard, digging her nails into the back of his neck. A low growl resonated deep in his chest as he bit down on her shoulder, his cock ramming mercilessly into her. A jolt of pain broke through her senses, but far from pulling her out of the moment, it sent a wave of adrenaline through her blood and she let out a breathless, pleading whine, her head pressing against the glass behind her as she arched her back.

His teeth at her shoulder, the cool glass on her back, his hands and hips supporting her weight, and that incredible cock hitting her  _ just there _ \--Shepard cried out as the sensations became tangled in her brain, a hot wave of pleasure taking over her senses; Garrus murmured something encouraging against her skin, but her blood was rushing too loudly in her ears to register his words, and still he kept up the pace; Shepard’s vision had gone white with ecstasy, pleasure washing over her like molten lava…only when her moans had been reduced to long, shuddering gasps did he still his hips, pressing himself deep inside her as she throbbed around him, trembling with little aftershocks.

“Spirits, Shepard,” murmured Garrus, nipping playfully at her jaw. “My fantasies had  _ nothing  _ on the real thing.”

Shepard felt a contented grin spreading over her face and pressed her forehead to his. “Back at you, Vakarian. Now, as much as I never want to move from this exact spot, can I get down? Apparently the whole chafing thing is a real concern.”

Garrus stepped away from the fish tank; reluctantly, Shepard lowered herself to the ground. Suddenly, Garrus froze. “Shepard—you’re bleeding.”

“I am?” Shepard looked down at herself, but she saw no blood.

“Your shoulder.”

Shepard glanced down at her left shoulder; sure enough, there was a thin trickle of blood making its way toward her collarbone. Now that she was aware of it, she could feel a mild sting where he’d bitten her. “Oh. Occupational hazard of sleeping with a predator, I guess?”

Garrus’s mandibles were fluttering guiltily. “I’m so sorry, Shepard.”

“Hey. It’s okay.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “You’ve seen me injured much worse than this. You know this is no big deal. And, uh,” she cleared her throat, blushing, “I really liked it. The biting.”

Garrus let out an incredulous huff of laughter. “I can’t believe I’m surprised,” he muttered, resting his hands tentatively on her waist. Subvocals resonating with lust and a hint of embarrassment, he added, “I’m glad, though. Don’t know how much research you did, but turians…do that.”

“I noticed,” said Shepard, grinning up at him. “In my experience, all the best things in life come with the risk of injury. Case in point.”

“You’re insane,” he told her fondly as she stepped around him and opened the drawer of her nightstand.

Shepard laughed, rummaging for a few seconds before coming up with a packet of medi-gel. “Not many people take that tone when they tell me that, so I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“It was meant as one,” he said, watching her pull a handful of tissues from the box beside the bed. He held out his hand. “Here, let me.”

She relinquished the supplies to him and they sat side-by-side in the bed. Garrus took a tissue and blotted gently at the blood that had just started to run down toward her breast. “All those times I’ve had to patch you up in the field, I never expected to have to patch you up after sex,” he muttered. “And they said we’d never use our cross-species first aid training. Speaking of which, is there a reason you keep medi-gel next to your bed? Just what kind of adventures are you having in here?”

Shepard elbowed him. “If you  _ must  _ know, it was for the cybernetic scars. I woke up sooner than I was supposed to. Had to apply medi-gel every night for a while there because I wasn’t done healing.”

“Right,” he murmured. He sat down next to her and tore open the packet in a thoughtful silence.

He gently applied the medi-gel to her shoulder, his hands ever steady and capable, and Shepard felt the familiar cooling tingle as the gel soothed the little wound with local anesthetic. “There,” he murmured, tossing the medi-gel packet aside. “Looks half-healed already.”

She smiled. “Thanks,” she said, deciding not to mention that the backs of her thighs still stung where she’d rested on his hips. The chafing wasn’t so bad—this experience was more than worth a little reddened skin.

As Garrus reached up to run his fingers carefully through her hair, Shepard couldn’t help but smile out of pure bliss. She didn’t often get moments like this. To have wanted this so badly, and to have somehow stumbled their way into such an amazing experience together, was a joy of which she truly didn’t feel deserving. But Garrus deserved it, and damned if she wasn’t thrilled to be the one to give it to him, even— _ especially _ —if it was the last chance they had to suck some joy out of this galaxy.

The turian leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “What are you thinking about?” he whispered, as if trying not to interrupt her thoughts.

Shepard mentally shook herself, realizing she’d been staring into his eyes in silence for more than a few beats too long. “Wondering how many ways I can come up with to cuddle a turian,” she told him, smiling affectionately. “Care to help me find the answer?”

Garrus huffed a laugh and let her pull him into bed with her, and they lay down, face-to-face. In a matter of seconds, Shepard was pressed against his chest plate, their arms draped over each other and her leg tucked behind his calf spur. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, his metallic scent filling her lungs, and then let out a long, contented sigh.

Another chuckle rumbled through Garrus’s chest as he wrapped an arm around her waist, his hand stroking her spine. “I like this,” he whispered.

Shepard grinned and kissed him lightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, mandibles fluttering happily. “Partly because you do. You’re so… _ cute. _ ”

Shepard groaned. “You’re on my good side, so I’m going to let that slide,” she mumbled, though she had to suppress a smile.

“I also really love the way your skin feels. Soft and cool, but also firm.” His fingers pressed into her hips as if to demonstrate.

“You gushing, Vakarian?” she asked, a wave of heat rushing to her cheeks as she lost control of the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“You put this idea into my head,” Garrus murmured, scooting down in the bed to press his mouth to her throat. “And now I’ve really come to appreciate the human body—this one, at least.” One three-fingered hand wrapped around the back of her thigh and hitched her leg up around his waist; his hips pressed against her and she felt his cock twitch as it brushed against her pussy.

“Your hide is so warm,” Shepard breathed, tightening her leg around him. She gasped as his erection grazed her clit.

Garrus flicked his mandibles mischievously, rocking his hips so his cock rubbed against her. “Still so wet,” he murmured, nipping at her jaw, making her involuntarily buck her hips against him. The turian chuckled and placed a hand on her hip. “Turn around?”

Shepard obliged, turning to face away from him and feeling Garrus press himself against her back. His cool plating felt smooth on her skin, like leather, as he ran a hand down her side, nipping at her neck. He pressed his cock between her legs, right against her cunt, still hot and wet with both their fluids; Shepard let out a pleading, whining sound that she was quite certain she’d never made before.

Garrus rumbled low in his chest, tucking his hand between her legs to position himself against her. As he slid inside her, he lifted her leg, holding her wide open to him, talons digging dully into the tender skin on her inner thigh. “ _ Garrus, _ ” she gasped; clenching hard around him as he pushed his cock into her.

“Spirits, I’m never going to get enough of hearing you make those sounds,” he whispered against her shoulder, nipping lightly as he began to thrust into her, drawing more breathy moans from her throat.

Shepard was beyond all thought; she could not think past the sensation of his hand, which was sliding up the inside of her leg…he brushed his fingers lightly across her clit, and she gasped and jerked against him, clamping down on his cock.

“Mmm, you feel so good,” Garrus panted against her skin, his teeth grazing her shoulder as his finger began to circle her clit. “Especially when you clench around me like that.”

His voice was like velvet dragging over her skin, muffling every thought but the sensation of his cock buried deep inside her, his mouth on her neck, his finger stroking lovingly at her clit. “I’m close, Garrus,” Shepard whimpered, arching against him.

“Me too,” he grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic—another few seconds and the room was filled with their cries of ecstasy, riding together through what felt like a never-ending wave of pleasure; his cock throbbed and pulsed inside her even as his fingers teased incredible sensations out of her. It was several long moments before they stilled, gasping, pressed together as the fiery sensations faded.

Garrus was the first to move, nuzzling affectionately against her skin. “I win,” he murmured smugly.

Shepard laughed breathlessly, twisting her head around to kiss the end of his mandible. “You win,” she conceded, far too content to argue. “I think you’ve broken me.”

“Not funny, considering I’ve already injured you tonight,” he said lightly.

Shepard turned around to face him, draping an arm over his waist. “A turian love bite hardly counts as an injury, Garrus. Even if it did, it was  _ totally  _ worth it.”

Garrus chuckled and kissed her. “Glad to hear it,” he murmured, mandibles flicking affectionately. “This was…incredible, Shepard. You’re incredible.”

A grin spread across Shepard’s face. “So...do we get to call this a victory, then?” she asked. Garrus looked at her, his icy blue eyes seeing far too much as they stared into hers. Shepard cleared her throat. “You said you wanted something to ‘go right.’ Just wondering if….”

Garrus ran his fingers tenderly through her hair. “Nothing about this is what I expected,” he murmured, “and it turned out better than I ever would have thought to hope. From where I stand, something went  _ very  _ right tonight.” His mandibles spread in a bashful grin. There was that tone again, that thread of sincere affection in his subvocals that came through so clearly, even to her inexperienced human ears.

Warmth flooded Shepard’s chest even as her heart clenched with panic. She was far, far too late. They were in this, now. Suddenly, she knew: whether or not they had a future—whether or not there  _ was  _ a future to look to—Garrus deserved to know that he’d brought her a happiness she never thought she’d get to feel again.

“I’m glad,” she said quietly, just as Garrus’s head began to tilt in concern. “I really wanted this with you. You’re my best friend, Garrus. It means a lot that you’re as happy to be here as I am.” She took one of Garrus’s hands in both of hers, and forced herself to look him in the eye despite the sudden onset of nerves. “Look…I don’t know what it is about you, but having you around just makes everything seem a little less grim. I can handle just about anything if I have you at my back. And getting closer with you like this…” she squeezed his hand and smiled at him. “…it feels like more than I deserve. You know that one or both of us could die tomorrow, and I don’t think I need to tell you that there’s no such thing as a promise kept after a mission like the one we’re about to take on, even if we do live through it. But you deserve to know that I really care about you, Garrus. And even though I hate to put you through it…if I have to walk into Hell, there’s no one I’d rather have at my back than you.”

“And you know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Except maybe…at your front.” He smirked, running a hand up her leg. “I feel like I should tell you—how honored I am to be here. On your ship, on the mission…in your bed.”

Shepard smiled softly and kissed his scarred mandible. “You don’t have to tell me, Garrus. You’ve already shown me. Whatever I did to deserve you, I’m damned glad for it.”

Mandibles flicking, Garrus leaned in and kissed her, long and slow; Shepard held on to him as tightly as she could, trying to convey her gratitude without words. After a few long moments, she pulled back. “Garrus?”

“Shepard?”

“I know we’re trying not to disrupt the crew, but…it being our last night alive and all…will you stay with me tonight?”

She watched him swallow hard. “Of course, Shepard. I’m by your side as long as you’ll have me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gratitude for anyone who has supported me through writing this story is greater than I can convey. I know that my updates have been sporadic at best and that I've been through edits and such, and the support of these readers has been invaluable in the incredible experience I've had writing this fic. 
> 
> As of now, this is complete. You may, in the future, see a "DLC" story featuring the events of the Arrival and Shadow Broker missions, as well as the lead-up to ME3. 
> 
> If you are reading...thank you. Thank you. Thank you.


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